


Blow my Whistle

by GoldenTruth813



Series: Make Some Noise [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Shiro (Voltron), Boys Kissing, Crushes, Dirty Talk, Everyone Is Alive, Explicit Sexual Content, Flirting, Frat Boy Shiro (Voltron), Humor, Implied Switching, Karaoke, M/M, Meet-Cute, Premature Ejaculation, Shiro has BDE, Snapback Floof is god tier, Top Keith (Voltron), blink and you'll miss it armpit kink, but also Shiro is baby, frat party, keith is so thirsty, shiro is a good boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-23 06:31:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19145461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenTruth813/pseuds/GoldenTruth813
Summary: Keith is absolutely not into frat boys. Especially frat boys who wear stupid tank tops and stupid snapbacks.Except he is. He really fucking is. Especially when that frat boy is Shiro.





	Blow my Whistle

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a twitter fic thread that got out of hand and spiraled into this which is just an excuse for Keith's thirst and for both of them to have fun and be happy. 
> 
> All the love and thanks to whiskyandwildflowers for the incredible beta. <3
> 
> Also please check out the beautiful art Rorom1r did [of Shiro here](https://twitter.com/rorom1r/status/1138637787622727683)
> 
> Frosted Knight also did an amazing art commission which you can see [here](https://twitter.com/goldentruth813/status/1157281658258591744) or in the fic below.

It’d been weeks since Pidge and Hunk had dragged him to his first frat party. Bolstered on by the threat of midterms on the horizon and a two-for-one special on Red Bull at the 7-11, Pidge had barged into the dorm he shared with Hunk and proclaimed they were going to a frat party.

At the time, it hadn’t occurred to Keith to say no. Partly because he was so desperate to stop studying Greek and Roman mythology, and partly out of morbid curiosity. He’d gotten his A.A. at a local community college, working full time and studying on the side before transferring to Altea Tech, which meant he’d had approximately zero friends or social life before now. 

He’d never been to a party, let alone a frat party—though he’d seen enough of frat boys in movies to have a good enough opinion of them. It’d only been six months since he’d transferred universities, but he’d also seen more than his fair share of idiotic boys trying to act like men as they stumbled around campus in pretentious pastel polo shirts by day, and bro-coded tank tops and basketball shorts by night. Frat guys were loud and obnoxious and entitled, and Keith hated them on principle. But that didn't mean he was stupid.

Frat guys were also free with their beer and dumb. Or at least, that was the general idea he’d picked up from that Zac Efron movie Hunk had made them watch on their first night as roommates under the guise of bonding. Keith was pretty sure Hank had picked the movie solely because he’d noticed the gay pride sticker on Keith’s laptop and was trying to seem cool with it by selecting a movie like that. He didn’t bother telling him that frat guys were not his type, because Zac Efron’s body was nice enough to look at even if Keith wasn’t actually attracted to that type.

So when Pidge had insisted they were going to go get wasted, well, he’d slammed his textbook shut as fast as Hunk. Studying or free liquor? It was hardly a difficult choice—even if the liquor was likely to come with a hefty price.

The first party had been as loud and horrific as Keith imagined. It was made tolerable only by the sight of the hottest man on Earth being held up by his ankle doing a kegstand. Or at least, Keith felt eighty percent certain he was the hottest guy alive. Keith couldn’t actually see his face, but his thighs were on full display from his hideous basketball shorts slipping down, as was his muscled back and impossibly tiny waist.

The next week when Pidge suggested they go again, Keith was the first one to slam his laptop shut despite the fact that his stupid psychology paper was due at midnight and still needed another page minimum. He wanted to pretend that the only reason he was going to the party was for the free beer, but the truth was he was mostly hoping to catch another eyeful of the hottie from the week before. And an eyeful he got.

The second he walked through the door, the guy was sliding down the stairs on a piece of cardboard wearing nothing but a pair of tight black boxers and a rainbow flag tied around his shoulders like a cape as he screamed “Victory or Death!” and sailed down.

He crashed into the wall with drunken laughter, his frat brother crashing into his back seconds later. Before Keith could linger for too long and really get a good look at the guy’s beautiful face, Pidge had linked arms with him and dragged him towards the kitchen in search of the alcohol.

Keith did his best to keep his chill, but it was made harder and harder by the fact that, week after week, the dude's tank tops got smaller and smaller until Keith felt close to snapping.

"You could try, you know, talking to him," Pidge said in that matter-of-fact tone she always used on Keith when she thought she knew more than him. She was sipping her punch and staring at him with raised eyebrows as the music around them blared.

"I don't like frat guys," Keith answered automatically. It was the same answer he’d been giving for weeks, but it was wearing thin, and he was pretty fucking sure that neither Pidge nor Hunk believed him anymore. Especially since the last two weeks he’d been the first one in the car waiting to get to the party,laying his entire body on the horn when Hunk and Pidge took too long buying chips from the vending machine in the dorm lobby.

Hunk choked on his punch, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he shot Keith an incredulous look. "My dude, my man. I hate to be the bearer of this unavoidable and undeniable truth, but you do. You really, really fucking do."

"I think I would know who I like," Keith challenged. He tried not to blush. Blushing would definitely weaken his credibility. Then again, his roaming eyes were probably doing that for him already anyway.

"You really would think so," Pidge agreed, eyes wide as she sighed heavily, "and yet here we are standing in the middle of the frat house for the fifth week in a row, hiding from the guy you’ve got a crush on. It's just like when you didn't realize we were all best friends until a month later when we had to tell you."

Keith gave her her a dirty look. "Traitor."

"I’m not betraying a friend, because this is for your own good, and we both know I’m not betraying my principles because at the moment my only loyalty is to the truth. And the truth, my dear Keith, is that you have been so thirsty for weeks that it's making it hard for me to enjoy my delicious adult beverage. The truth is, the only reason we’re all still hanging out in front of the punch bowl is because you can see out into the backyard and you’re desperately hoping hot frat boy will join in the kegger shenanigans even though we haven’t seen hide nor hair of him yet."

Keith crossed his arms and frowned. He hadn’t realized his ogling had been that obvious.

"Look the baby is pouting,” Pidge teased, jabbing her bony finger into Keith’s cheek.

"I'm not a baby!"

"Guess you'll have to prove it, dude.” Hunk clapped him on the back. “Your Pepe Le Pew has finally made his grand entrance and is heading this way right now."

Before Keith could ask Hunk what the fuck that meant, Hunk and Pidge scurried away to the other end of the kitchen, feigning interest in a beer pong game currently happening and leaving Keith alone at the punch bowl nursing a frown and a noticeably empty red cup.

"Thirsty?" someone asked from behind him. The voice was warm as honey and twice as nice, and Keith nearly crushed his empty cup with the dawning realization of who was standing behind him.

“You done there?” he asked again.

Keith had never wished for the earth to swallow him whole more than he did at that very moment. 

Death would be a welcome refuge from this intolerable and cruel fate. He wanted to open his mouth and say something—anything. Or even just move his stupid fucking feet to the side and stop being that loitering asshole blocking the alcohol. Instead of doing either, his body betrayed him and he could do neither—rooted to the spot with indecision and panic. 

Despite the last few weeks of attending these parties, he’d never actually come close to interacting with his crush. He’d always admired him from afar, body flooding with warmth at the attractive lines of his body or rich laughter. It had suited Keith just fine. It was safer that way, less chance for Keith to prove how out of his depth he was. Besides, the guy was way out of his league. Fuck, he was out of everyone’s league. And he was a frat boy. Double the reasons why Keith’s crush was supposed to have stayed a secret fantasy which he indulged from afar.

At least until now.

Keith squeezed his eyes shut, wondering if he could pretend he couldn’t hear him. The music was loud enough that most people had to shout to be heard, which at least gave Keith enough plausible deniability to pretend he wasn’t ignoring Hot Frat Dude. If it worked, he might go away so that Keith wouldn’t have to deal with the repercussions of standing next to someone so attractive his brain apparently malfunctioned.

Life had a way of doing the opposite of what Keith wanted and instead of leaving, the guy spoke again.

"You alright?" he asked. He doesn’t sound short-tempered or annoyed, just genuinely concerned, and that’s a memory Keith doesn’t need.

Keith had heard him joking around with his frat brothers the last few weeks enough times that the sound of his melodic voice or booming laughter echoed in his ears long after he got home, and long after he'd shoved his hand down his boxers. But the guy sounded normal now—kind and thoughtful in a way Keith had assumed frat boys could not be. 

“I’m fine,” Keith choked out, if only so Mr Too-Hot-to-Exist didn’t think he was wholly incapable of speech.

“You maybe wanna budge over a little bit?” he asked. He was so close now Keith could feel his breath ghosting against the back of his head.

“Nope,” Keith squeaked, horrified at the pitch of his voice and the word that just came out of his mouth. It was official: Keith was the biggest disaster in the history of the universe. Fuck.

"Right, okay well this is awkward," he laughed, that same familiar rumble of laughter Keith had heard more than once. It was even nicer sound up closer and personal—rich and uninhibited and full of mirth. He wondered if the guy always laughed so much or if it was just when he was drinking. "Just...I'm out of punch."

Keith inhaled sharply, puffing up his cheeks with air as he shuffled to the side a few inches to make room for him. It was apparently not far enough though because the guys glacier-sized chest was suddenly pressed up along half of Keith’s back as he leaned over to fill his cup. The noise that came out of Keith’s mouth was a sound he’d never made in the presence of another human, and he very much hoped the music was loud enough that the guy didn’t notice.

“Sorry, I’ll hurry,” he whispered, face hovering inches from Keith’s as he turned to give him a cheeky smile.

Keith exhaled slowly, his chest tight as he wondered if this was how he was going to die. The guy’s breath smelled like Hawaiian Punch and cheap tequila. He also reeked of clean boy smell. Something which, if pressed, Keith would’ve had trouble describing until this very moment. It was crisp and clean with an undercurrent of masculinity that made Keith want to dunk his face into the punch bowl and drown himself, if only to stop the embarrassing desire to shove his face into other—far less appropriate—places. Fuck, why did boys smell so nice? It wasn’t fucking fair. Frat Boy was supposed to smell like he hadn’t showered in a week or something to make it easier for Keith to find reasons not to like him. Instead, he smelled so fucking good Keith wanted to cry.

Life was so fucking unfair sometimes.

The guy’s cup is the same size as Keith’s, so he doesn’t have a goddamn clue why it feels like it’s taking him ten years to fill it. He’s not sure if the guy is just being obnoxiously careful and slow filling his cup so he doesn't spill any on Keith, or if he's doing it on purpose to exact revenge on Keith for blocking his way. Not that Keith has a fucking clue what kind of revenge it would be.

Either way, it was driving him absolutely crazy.

Keith would worry he was blushing, but he’s pretty sure there isn’t any blood left to go to his face since it's definitely all gone south to his half-erect dick. Fuck being male and fuck his traitorous genitals’ inability to ignore frat boys. Especially semi-drunk frat boys with no sense of personal space who smelled like heaven.

It seemed appropriate really, that of all the things he's endured in his life, getting a raging hard-on by the punch bowl just from a cute frat guy touching his shoulder would be how he perished.

Poetic fucking justice.

Perhaps it was karma for Keith spending his first few months after transferring to a college with Greek life constantly talking about the horror of the patriarchy and how frats reinforce toxic masculinity. Honestly, that was the only explanation that made a lick of sense as to why Keith was so uncomfortably aware of every inch of his body and the slow, rhythmic breathing of the guy behind him. 

"Your turn,” he breathed against the side of Keith’s neck.

"What?" Keith stuttered. 

The words meant nothing to Keith, and the guy made no indication he might move away, his warm chest still pressed against Keith's back. 

"Want me to fill you up?"

Keith made a noise like a dying llama, biting down on his bottom lip hard enough bleed.  
Any blood not in his dick rushed to his ears as they filled with a loud whirring noise. Maybe he was hallucinating this entire scenario. Karma or hallucination seemed to be the two most viable options at the moment.

"That a yes?" Hot Frat Boy chuckled, his amusement evident in the rumble of his chest.

Keith was either getting stupider, or he was hallucinating. He wanted to say _what_ again, but the words got stuck on the end of his tongue and instead, he made another horrifyingly squeaky noise.

The guy laughed again, plucking the empty red cup from Keith’s hand and then filling it with punch. _Oh._

Fill you up. Fuck, Keith had a dirty mind.

The only reason he didn’t drop dead on the spot was because at least the Adonis behind him had no idea that Keith’s first and only thought had been about miles and miles of naked skin and a thick dick in his mouth or ass. 

The guy hadn’t been flirting with Keith in an obscenely lewd manner— he was being polite. Of fucking course that’s what he’d been doing.

He topped Keith's cup up a little fuller than necessary, red punch splashing on his hand and onto the scratched wood of the ugly kitchen table.

"Sorry," he apologized, brushing the punch away with the pad of his thumb but ignoring the spill on the table. It fit right in with a caked on white sticky mess Keith purposely chose not to examine. "You just seemed like you really needed a drink."

The guy finally took a step away, and the loss of his body heat was immediately missed. Not trusting himself to speak, Keith nodded instead before turning to face the guy with the sole intention of not making an ass of himself. This was apparently impossible, however, because fuck fuck fuck he was so handsome it actually made Keith's chest ache. 

He was big and handsome and big. Fuck, he was so big. 

Big _everywhere._

Big arms with rippling bicep muscles and strong forearms lightly dusted in dark hair. A big, broad chest with noticeably pert nipples beneath his thin tank top, and big thighs with the material of his hideous, too-thin basketball shorts spread taut across the expanse of each one. And a dick print. Fuck a huge dick print. 

And his hands, fuck, his hands—big hands with a wide palm and long, thick fingers that were gripping his red plastic cup.

Fucking fuck.

“Uh, thanks. For the drink I mean,” Keith said stupidly after realizing how long he’d been staring at the guy’s, well, everything.

Fuck, even his smile was big as he ducked his head and gifted Keith with a toothy grin that made him weak in the knees.

"You got a name?" he asked, shoving his free hand into his pocket, which was really unfortunate for Keith because the action tugged the stupid shorts down lower, leaving Keith with no question about whether the guy was wearing boxers or briefs—apparently the answer was neither.

Keith nodded, lifting his drink and chugging half of it in one go as he stared at the sharp jut of the guy’s hipbone and the dark trail of hair that disappeared beneath his stretchy waistband. The punch was sickeningly sweet and burned on the way down, and was definitely stronger than the punch Keith had tried an hour ago. Whoever had made this batch was clearly heavy handed with the shitty tequila.

It tasted the way the same way the other guy’s breath had smelled, and Keith desperately wanted to taste it on his lips instead.

"You gonna tell me what it is?" Hot Frat Boy asked after a beat. 

Keith’s head spun and he was pretty sure it didn’t have anything to do with the punch, but rather the knowledge that the too-pretty-to-be-real frat boy standing in front of him had a cluster of freckles above his dick. How the fuck was Keith supposed to exist in the world with this kind of knowledge?

"Depends," Keith found himself saying, now wondering if he’d been possessed. What in the fuck it might depend on, he had no fucking clue. Sometimes words came out of his mouth without his own goddamn permission.

Keith chugged the rest of his punch, hoping to find the courage he needed to utter his next words at the bottom. Instead, all he found was the bottom of an empty cup. Fuck, apparently he was going to have muster his own courage to do this. 

"Oh yeah, and what does it depend on?" The look of amusement was evident on the guy’s face as he casually sipped his own drink, which was so fucking rude because no one should look hot drinking from a red plastic cup, and yet the way his full lips curled around the plastic rim made Keith’s dick twitch with interest.

The other boy leaned against the edge of the dining room table, an action which made the girth of his thick thighs spread even wider. It took every single ounce of Keith's considerable self-control to look at Frat Boy’s socially appropriate head.

"Depends on if you earn it," Keith blurted out before he could think twice about the wisdom of flirting with the human equivalent of a Greek god. This could not possible end well for Keith given his disastrous romantic history. Then again Keith’s penchant for doing the unwise was fairly high. He blamed his parents and their insistence on telling him he could be anything, which often made him go and do stupid things like have confidence in unrealistic situations. Unfortunately, having disgustingly-in-love parents, even after twenty-five years of marriage, had not helped Keith find love for himself.

“Oh,” Frat Boy breathed out. He didn’t appear to be confused or put out. If anything, he almost seemed excited. It made Keith’s blood run hot and he dug a finger into the collar of his cotton t-shirt and tugged on it hard, wondering why the air around them seemed so thick all of a sudden. Fuck, couldn’t frat houses afford air conditioning? 

The guy opened his mouth as if to say something else to Keith, when someone wearing equally hideous basketball shorts—though they were far less attractive on his knobby knees—tapped Frat Boy on the shoulder and leaned into whisper something that had his face darkening. Keith blamed the alcohol he’d consumed too quickly on the fact that even the guy’s overly thick caterpillar eyebrows looked fucking adorable as they furrowed together.

“Shit, I’ve gotta go,” he told Keith. Keith had no idea why he sounded like he was apologizing. It wasn’t as if he owed Keith anything. “Someone called the cops with a noise complaint and my frat brothers always make me answer the door when that happens.”

Cute Frat Boy gave Keith his most innocent smile, and Keith could see exactly why they sent him to deal with the cops. No wonder this fraternity never got any damn violations.

Mr Knobby Knees nudged Cute Frat Boy with his shoulder looking annoyed. He didn’t budge.

“Will you come back next week?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” Keith answered, even though he was absolutely positive that he would come back no matter what, even if for some reason Pidge wasn’t able to get them an invite again. In fact he was pretty fucking sure nothing in the world could stop him from showing up next week. Hell, he’d cross through the parking lot of the abandoned Safeway behind the frat house and climb their fence to get in if he had to. 

Keith was absolutely not above low-key breaking-and-entering or party crashing in order to see Frat Boy’s smile directed at him at least one more time before he wizened up and realized Keith wasn’t that exciting.

“You should really, really come next week. It’s gonna be special, there’s gonna be—”

The music cut off, a chorus of boos and dissatisfied groaning from party goers filling the house seconds before someone forcefully banged on the front door. The knocking was followed by several choice curse words from the frat guys rushing in from the back yard and towards his frat boy. Well not _his_. Fuck, Keith’s brain was traitorous. 

The other boy made a dissatisfied expression that was, well, there was no other word for it—he was pouting. Honest-to-God fucking pouting. Keith had never seen a grown man pout before. It should’ve been stupid or ridiculous but instead, it was really fucking adorable. 

Someone—one of his frat brothers, Keith assumed—put a hand on Frat Boy’s arm and attempted to pull him away. He stubbornly dug his stupid plastic slides into the sticky linoleum floor in an attempt to stave off being dragged from the room.

“Just come next week!” He yelled. He had at least thirty pounds and several inches on his frat brother which he was obviously using to his advantage. The only thing Keith couldn’t quite understand was why he cared if Keith came back. Their conversation at the punch bowl—if you could even call it that—had been brief to say the least.

“Shirogane, get your ass to the front door! You remember what happened last time someone else answered,” another one of his frat brothers hissed, looking unsure whether he should be annoyed or panicked at the cops banging on the front door again. When Freckle Dick Boy didn’t move, the second guy attempted to help by grabbing hold of his other arm. Together, they were apparently strong enough to overpower him as they dragged him out of the kitchen in nothing but his socks, his slides stuck to the floor.

“Okay, I’ll come,” Keith shouted as he glanced at the slides. It was almost like Cinderella’s glass slippers, except Keith wasn’t anything close to a Prince Charming. When he looked up from the floor, it was to see a million dollar smile directed his way. 

“My name is Shiro, by the way!” he yelled seconds before Keith lost sight of him among the throngs of people trying to escape the party.

Shiro he thought.

His frat boy’s name was Shiro.

For the first time that night, Keith smiled.

**_______**

Those first few parties, it’d been Pidge dragging Hunk and Keith there with the promise of no homework in sight and free drinks. The following week after the Punch Incident however, it was Keith’s turn to practically drag Pidge and Hunk to the party.

"What's your hurry, lover boy?" Pidge asked with a smirk. She was waggling her eyebrows at Keith in a way that was entirely ridiculous. If he wasn’t close to throwing up the Top Ramen he’d had for dinner, he might have laughed.

"Yeah," Hunk echoed, trailing alongside Keith as they dodged a drunk guy puking on the front lawn of the frat house. "You sure need a drink, don't you buddy? You really thirsty today?"

"I absolutely hate you both,' he grumbled, turning his back on them both and jogging the rest of the way to the front door. It was littered with empty beer cans already and something that looked suspiciously like a used condom was in the hedge under the front window. Keith grimaced and jabbed his finger at the doorbell before he lost his nerve and ran back to the car instead.

The music from inside seemed, if possible, even louder than previous weeks, and Keith almost feared no one was going to answer the door. By the third doorbell jab he’d all but given up hope when the front door swung open.

“Hello,” Hunk said loudly, though to who Keith wasn’t sure since it wasn’t obvious who’d opened the door.

“I think we should just take this as our invitation and go inside,” Pidge announced, squeezing in between Hunk and Keith and crossing the threshold. Never one to be left behind, Hunk followed suit, turning to stare at Keith expectantly.

Keith hesitated for a only second before following suit, slamming the door shut behind them and squaring his shoulders. He was inside now, there was no going back.  
Frat parties were always, in Keith's limited experience, obnoxiously loud and out of control. Tonight's seemed to be trying to take it to a whole ‘nother level. 

The large living room was so crowded that, had there been a max capacity, they would absolutely have been over it. Keith cursed having a firefighter for a father as his brain mentally cataloged the fire code violations—the smoke detector hanging from the ceiling with no batteries, the overcrowding, and the suspicious smoke coming from down the hallway. Not to mention what was happening on the couch, an act Keith had no desire to try to untangle. Too many arms and limbs and not enough clothing.

“Right, who wants a drink?” Pidge asked, raising her voice to twice the normal level to be heard over the music.

“Me,” Hunk answered. He turned to Keith. “You need some liquid courage buddy, or you going straight for your man?”

“He’s not my man,” Keith blurted, louder than he’d meant to. He flushed when several people next to him turned to stare and gave them a tight smile which they did not return. Keith had half a mind to turn around and walk right back out the door, not entirely unconvinced he hadn’t been out of his mind last week.

Shiro was so many levels out of his league and a frat guy. He was not going to be interested in Keith, well at least not for more than five minutes—until whatever fantasy he had of what Keith might be like based on his looks was squashed by him actually getting to know Keith. It wouldn’t be the first time it had happened. For some reason people—especially guys, and especially big guys like Shiro—saw Keith and assumed that because he didn’t physically fit a masculine stereotype, that he was a certain way. They saw his lithe frame and smaller stature and got it into their heads he was somehow weaker because of it or, more horrifying, that he had some sort of submissive daddy complex. The one time a casual hookup had told Keith to call him Daddy, Keith had shoved him out of his goddamn bed.

Keith couldn’t be sure what Shiro expected him to be like, but he felt confident enough to guess that whatever it was wouldn’t line up with who Keith really was. Most of the time when the type of guys Keith liked physically got to know him emotionally, they felt emasculated by the fact that he could bench press them under the table and knew his own fucking worth. 

Despite all the reasons why it might have been a good idea for Keith to turn around and leave before things got messy or complicated or awkward, there was a problem with his feet and their inability to move when his eyes landed on Shiro from across the crowded room.

Shiro, who was wearing a pair of thin grey sweatpants that left absolutely nothing to the imagination and clung to the generous curve of his full ass, skimmed his thick thighs, and once again showed off a very substantial dick print. Of course all of that was nothing compared to what he was wearing on top. Or _not_ wearing as it were. He had on a short cropped tank top with his fraternity’s Greek letters barely legible because it’d been cut so short. Every line of his chiseled abs were on full display, the cut of the tank top highlighting how broad his shoulders were.

Keith’s dick twitched in his jeans as he stared at the way the short, loose material fluttered across the swell of Shiro’s pecs. Keith had the primal urge to shove his face between them. 

He was once again wearing the same stupid slides with socks and the same ridiculous snapback with a long tuft of soft looking white hair sticking out of the front. On anyone else, it would’ve been the most hideous outfit Keith had ever seen. On Shiro it was a thirst trap of astronomical proportions. 

“I see something Keith wants more than a drink,” Pidge singsonged.

Keith flipped her off as his feet began to shuffle forward instead of backward. Shiro hadn’t seen him yet, which was a blessing and a curse. Keith took the extra time to watch Shiro in his natural habitat, marveling at his obvious self-confidence as he chugged an entire can of beer without taking a breath, then smashed the can on the flat of his impossibly taut stomach and grinned under the adoring cheers of his frat brothers.

Fucked. Keith was so fucking fucked.

He was dimly aware of Pidge and Hunk pretending to cry as they muttered, "Our baby has grown up." 

Keith didn’t turn around to give them a dirty look or tell them to shut up, because that would have required him to look away from Shiro, and that was inconceivable. The journey through the living room was so slow going, not because of how crowded it was, but because Keith could not take his eyes off Shiro, not even to blink.

Keith was not being even remotely hyperbolic when he thought to himself that Shiro was the most beautiful man he’d ever laid eyes on in his entire life. It was impossible to drag his eyes away from the ripple of Shiro's stomach muscles when he laughed deeply, or away from the way his big hands clenched around the back of the chair he was now leaning against, or away from the way his almond shaped eyes crinkled up in the corners when his smile got wide enough.

Keith was no stranger to crushes, or to lust, but looking at Shiro couldn’t compare to anything Keith had ever felt. He thought back to his first romp with a boy when he was sixteen beneath the bleachers at school and how desperately aroused he’d been, or to the way his chest fluttered when he jerked off to really good porn, or to the first time he’d had sex with his ex-boyfriend, and not a single one of them had filled him with the kind of arousal that just _looking_ at Shiro did.

He'd never been drawn to anyone the way he was right now, his mouth dry and his tongue heavy as he watched Shiro. It was reason enough for him to turn and run away, but also the exact reason he kept moving towards him instead. A bolt of lightning could’ve struck Keith and he would’ve kept moving towards Shiro and his halo of white hair and angelic smile.

Keith's brain cataloged the exact moment Shiro caught sight of him; the way his chest expanded with air as he stood taller and his cheeks spread wide with a smile so undeniably pure Keith felt like he should say thank you. It was heady to be the cause of someone's pleasure, and Keith stumbled against the open doorway, breathless and really fucking turned on. His shoulder throbbed from where it had banged against the door frame, though not as much as his cock was throbbing in his jeans. Keith had no clue how he was going to make his feet weave through the crowds of people in the next room to get to Shiro when his dick was halfway to hard already and his heart was beating so fast he was afraid he might actually pass out.

Those worries proved to be for naught, however, when instead of trying to find his way to Shiro, the other boy immediately found his way to Keith.

Unlike Keith, who had been awkwardly stumbling through the throngs of party goers—bumping into people and tripping over his own two feet—Shiro moved through the crowd seamlessly despite his substantial girth. There was a grace with which he moved his body that made fantasies of how he might move that body horizontally flash through Keith’s mind.

God, Keith was so fucking weak for this doe-eyed frat boy.

Normally Keith’s gut reaction would be to internally moan about the sheer unfairness of being so attracted to someone in such stupid clothes with a stupid backwards snapback in a stupid frat. Except he can't. Because as stupid as it all should be, there was apparently not a single thing about Shiro that Keith wasn’t attracted to. It was an unfairness that was tempered only by the fact that Shiro was still looking at him as if he were a lighthouse in a storm—his sole focus on Keith—as he got closer. Keith didn’t have a fucking clue what he might have done to enrapture someone like that, but he wasn’t stupid enough to take it for granted either.

"You came," Shiro said when he was close enough to be heard. He left a few inches of space between them, but it was unnecessary because Keith was hyper aware of every inch of Shiro’s magnificent body.

“Yup. That’s me...I mean, uh, yes. Yes I came. Obviously, because I’m standing in front of you.” He snapped his mouth closed willing himself to shut the fuck up.

“Man you’re cute,” Shiro laughed, sliding up even closer to Keith, his arm bent on the doorway above Keith's head showing off the thickness of his bicep and tufts of dark hair under his arm. Keith was forced to actually bite his tongue to keep from whimpering or reaching out to see if the hair was as soft as it looked. He'd swear he was dreaming, except not even his dreams had ever supplied him with a man like Shiro.

"You too," Keith mumbled, wishing he could say something more eloquent but too preoccupied wondering if he'd always found armpit hair sexy and never realized, or if it was just this fucking hot on Shiro. Probably the latter.

There was something so unexpected about the undeniably masculine lines of Shiro’s overly fit body beneath a hot pink crop top and his soft tufts of white hair sticking out of that stupid, stupid hat. It was a juxtaposition that made Keith want to believe there was more to Shiro than one might expect. There was also something so endearing about the almost sweet way he was smiling at Keith.

"So, does this mean I get your name then?" Shiro asked as he leaned closer. His breath smelled like cheap beer and minty toothpaste, and Keith was struck by the urge to fist his hands in his shirt and pull him down hard to lick into his mouth and taste it.

“Not yet,” Keith whispered, knowing Shiro was definitely close enough to hear him even over the music.

Shiro pulled his bottom lip between his teeth as he observed Keith. His eyes were a little more heavy-lidded than last week and his breathing slow as he unabashedly studied the lines of Keith’s face as if he were looking for something. He hummed out loud as he snuck his hand out to twist a finger in the hair at the back of Keith's neck, causing a shiver to course through his entire body. Jesus Christ, the tip of one finger touching his skin and Keith nearly moaned. He really needed to get himself together.

“You planning on telling me tonight?” Shiro asked, resting his thumb at the side of Keith’s throat.

“Maybe,” Keith answered evasively. Truthfully he’d almost given it to him last week, but he hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that once he did that, Shiro would be done with him. His traitorous brain had screamed _"You're playing a game with him and he's having fun and when it's done he'll find someone new"_.

Keith might not have known many frat guys in his life—or perhaps none—but he'd known guys and most of them were all the same. They were selfish, self-centered and unreliable.

He wanted to believe Shiro wasn’t like that, but he didn’t know—not for sure. All Keith knew for sure at the moment was that for some reason, Shiro found something about him interesting, and he wanted to hold onto that as long as possible. His name was the only leverage he had left.

Maybe it was selfish of him too, to want as much of Shiro's attention on him as possible, but Keith was only human. His self-control could only extend so far, and right now he felt like a guitar string wound too tight. One strum from Shiro and he would snap.

Keith had never been the selfish kind, but he figured he deserved to be selfish at least once in his life. Just this once, maybe it was okay to _want_. And fuck did he want. He wanted Shiro more than he'd ever wanted anyone. 

If Shiro wanted to play a game, then Keith could play too.

"Okay," Shiro breathed with a tilt of his head. "It's alright, I'm a patient man. I can wait as long as it takes."

"As long as what takes?" Keith asked, finally dragging his eyes off Shiro’s lips and back up to his eyes. 

"As long as it takes for you to stop looking at me like you're waiting for me to leave."

Keith snapped his mouth shut unsure what to say to that. Frat boys were not supposed to be emotionally intelligent, gentle and charming.

Exposed. He felt so fucking exposed.

"You want a drink?" Shiro asks, the tips of his fingers skimming down the back of Keith's neck. It was unexpectedly intimate, and Keith had to fight the urge to close his eyes and lean into the touch. 

"Yes," Keith uttered. He wanted a lot more than a drink, but he didn’t think now was the appropriate time to say that. "Please."

Shiro grinned, looping his arm around Keith's neck and guiding him towards the kitchen and the array of alcohol hidden behind a wall of Shiro's frat brothers. It was uncanny the way their bodies slotted together, and Keith was inexplicably grateful for the the touch, suddenly lightheaded.

"What do you want to drink?" Shiro inquired once they were close enough to the counter for him to see the variety of cheap liquor bottles lined up beside another vat of artificially red fruit punch.

"Anything," Keith replied, if only because he didn’t think his brain was working enough to make a decision. Not when all his brain could focus on was the heavy weight of Shiro's arm looped around his shoulder or the warmth of his breath against the shell of Keith's ear when he spoke.

Keith was so focused on the heat from Shiro’s body, and the fact that he reeked of that goddamn perfect clean boy smell again, that it took a few seconds to realize that Shiro had yelled something to one his frat brothers. The guy raised an eyebrow at them in response, shrugging before reaching into the cupboard behind him and pulling down a bottle of Amsterdam peach vodka. He uncapped the bottle and poured a generous amount into two red solo cups before topping them off with a ladle of fruit punch and passing them over.

Keith took too big of a drink and choked. Fuck, that was strong enough to put hair on his chest.

"Careful, that flavor is a little dangerous,” Shiro laughed, taking a much more moderate sip of his own.

"I can handle it," Keith insisted, taking another chug to prove his point and resisting the urge to wince at the burn. He didn’t exactly want be drunk because whatever happened, he definitely hoped to remember every second of tonight. It was just that sober, he wasn’t sure there would be a tonight, not with his nerves threatening ruin him by making him blurt out something embarrassing like _you smell nice_. By the third drink, Keith didn’t even wince. The peach flavor really was dangerously good, and mixed with punch it was easy to forget how much alcohol was actually in his cup.

"Whoa, slow down there," Shiro whispered, his fingers curling around his cup as he gently pried it from Keith's mouth. 

"Why?" Keith asked, unable to stop himself.

"We've got all night." His fingers lingered where they were wrapped around the cup atop Keith's. "I'd uh...kinda like you to remember it. Call me crazy, but I'd like to know you're into me without needing liquor." 

Keith swallowed down the liquid burning his throat, ignoring the burning at the corner of his eyes. Shit, shit, shit. He’d known he was gonna do something stupid, just hadn’t expected to do it so fast. There was something quiet about the way Shiro had said it—as if it were a confession—a catch in his voice as he swallowed. His eyes were wide and guileless, and Keith found himself moving without thinking, crashing their lips together. 

Shiro let out a soft noise of surprise, plucking the drink from Keith's hand and leaving him free to twine his arms around Shiro's neck and rise onto his tiptoes to deepen the kiss. Shiro melted against him, dipping his head just enough to put them on even footing as Keith plundered his mouth.

Shiro's lips were even softer than they looked, but the most surprising thing about kissing him was the way he let Keith take the lead. Inhaling a deep breath through his nose, Keith deepened the kiss, chest pressed firmly against Shiro’s as he darted his tongue to swipe it along Shiro’s plump bottom lip. The peach and punch tasted even sweeter on Shiro, and it took Keith a moment to realize the needy sounds he was hearing had come from his own mouth.

When Keith finally pulled out of the kiss to catch his breath, Shiro's eyes were shut, his lips kiss swollen and his hat falling halfway off his head. 

Fuck, he was so cute.

"Sorry, I uh...I," Keith stuttered, unsure what to say next. _I wanted to devour you_ seems too forward and _I needed you to know how much I want you, alcohol or no alcohol_ felt too emotionally honest a confession to make in the middle of a party. 

Shiro blinked open his eyes looking a little dazed before he smiled at Keith— a smile so unmistakably pleased and happy it left him breathless all over again. That was the most blindly pleased smile Keith had ever seen, and it was directed at him.

Because he'd kissed Shiro. 

"Actually no, I'm not sorry. Not even a little bit." 

This time, Shiro’s smile was damn near devastating as he cupped Keith’s chin and bent down to press the chastest of kisses to his lips.

"Good," Shiro whispered. “That’s really good, because neither am I.”

Confidence bolstered, Keith reached out to straighten Shiro's snapback, smoothing his fingers through the tuft of hair sticking out. It was even softer than it looked, and Keith’s fingers itched with the desire to push the cap back off Shiro's head and fist his hands in Shiro's hair.

"Rule number five!" one of Shiro's frat brothers shouted from the other side of the kitchen. 

Shiro's eyes darkened as he turned and flipped someone off. "We're not having sex in the kitchen, asshole."

"You were eye fucking so bad I felt like I needed a condom,” annoying frat bro challenged, lifting his beer in a toast to Keith with a wink. Keith joined Shiro in flipping the guy off. The guy grumbled to himself and turned away.

It wasn’t until Shiro’s eyes were back on Keith that what he’d just done hit him. He’d kissed Shiro. Kissed him like he meant it in the middle of a crowded kitchen. He wanted to sink through the floor in embarrassment rather than admit he'd honestly forgotten that the rest of the world existed for just a moment. 

Cheeks filling with air, Keith held his breath and shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to ignore the weight of the stares being directed their way. He wasn’t sure if people were staring at Keith or Shiro or just both of them, but either way, it was more attention than Keith normally liked directed his way. 

“This is not an episode of _The Hills_. Eyes on your own drinks or dates, people,” Shiro hollered. Amazingly, everyone averted their eyes and Keith was hard pressed to deny how hot Shiro looked bossing people around. 

Shiro shook his head, a bit of hair falling into his eyes before he grabbed their discarded drinks off the kitchen table. He passed Keith's back to him before looping his free arm around Keith's waist and guiding him out of the room.

"Ignore Matt, he's just jealous the most action he gets is with his robotics project."

"Sorry," Keith mumbled, tempted to down his entire drink in one go so at least he could blame his rash behavior on being drunk instead of being too horny to think straight.

"Thought you weren't sorry," Shiro challenged, guiding him towards the open back door.

"Not sorry about the kiss, just sorry I didn't uh...ask for permission first."

"Oh." Shiro sounds surprised, stopping in the middle of the doorway to turn and look at Keith. "Shit, you're sweet.”

“I’m not that sweet,” Keith argued. 

“I don’t know about that, seem pretty sweet to me," Shiro said quietly, reaching out to drag his thumb across Keith's bottom lip. "For future reference, I'm very interested and amenable to any ways in which you'd like to touch me. Including kissing. I really hope there will be more kissing."

“That’s good to know. Just you know, for future reference,” Keith muttered, lips tingling from Shiro’s touch. 

Shiro grinned widely, his nose scrunched up as he shuffled backward and fisted a hand in Keith’s shirt to pull him with him into the back yard. 

“I’m glad we’re on the same page about kissing being something that deserves a repeat performance. First though, I thought we might try something else.”

“What else?” Keith asked, stumbling along after Shiro, feet catching on the bottom step that led from the house to the patio. Before Shiro could answer that question, however, Keith eyes landed on the yard. Or, at least, what was the yard, but had now been transformed into what, close as Keith could tell, looked like some sort of rigged up rave. There were cheap white Christmas lights strung up across the yard, and a fairly substantial dance floor in the middle of the grass taking up well over half the backyard.

“Wow,” Keith breathed.

“See, I told you it was going to be something special this week. One of my frat brothers bought a storage locker and found them hidden behind a sofa. Pretty cool huh?”

Cool wasn’t exactly the word Keith would use.

“I can’t dance,” he blurted out before Shiro got any crazy ideas.

Keith couldn’t recall the last time he’d danced in front of other people. He hadn’t even danced at his own high school prom. The idea of dancing in public where other people could see was high on the list of things Keith would prefer death to. Public humiliation was not high on his list of good times, and while Keith couldn’t be entirely sure he would embarrass himself, his lack of dancing experience made the probability quite high.

“Don’t dance or can’t dance?” Shiro queried with a quirk of his lips.

“Is there a difference?” Keith shot back, lifting his cup and gulping down too big of a drink that burned all the way down. 

“Of course there is. _Don’t_ dance is firm. It means you aren’t interested in what our bodies might look like out there as we grind our hips together. _Can’t_ just means you might need someone to teach you.” He took a step closer to Keith, leaning so close his forelock brushed across Keith’s forehead. “Or maybe you just need some persuasion.”

“What kind of persuasion?” Keith asked, already having a pretty good idea as Shiro’s left hand skimmed down his side until warm fingers were brushing beneath the hem of his t-shirt along the small sliver of skin above his jeans.

“Depends.”

Keith cleared his throat hoping Shiro couldn’t tell he was getting hard from such a small touch. “Depends on what exactly?”

Shiro’s eyes glinted with mischief as he dipped his head to close the small gap between them, leaving his lips hovering just an inch or so from Keith’s. It wasn’t a kiss, not technically, but his lips brushed against Keith’s as he whispered, “Depends on what kind of motivation you respond to. You the kind of boy who likes a challenge? A tease? A promise? Maybe all three.”

Keith’s bottom lip quivered as Shiro pulled his head away to wait for an answer. He was teasing Keith already, and fuck if Keith didn’t like it.

“I uh...might respond to any of those incentives. Depending on how they were, uh...executed.” He wasn’t sure if it was lust or alcohol making him stupider. 

“Hypothetically, I might dare you to dance with me.” Shiro leaned in close again, his lips grazing across Keith’s cheek this time. “Might dare you to show me how brave you really are.”

Shiro’s entire body was radiating heat, his breath sweet and his eyes so ripe with excitement it set Keith’s head spinning. Before he could tell Shiro that his words were definitely the type of dare Keith might respond well to, Shiro was speaking again.

“Or I might do this,” he said, moving back from Keith enough to set his drink on the floor before slipping both hands beneath Keith’s shirt and hooking his thumbs under the waistband of Keith’s jeans. It sent a chill down Keith’s spine, his stomach fluttering as Shiro pulled him flush against his hips then began to sway. “Might tell you I want you close to me all night, baby.” 

[ ](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/606839955481690118/606840171438145536/image1.png)

Keith’s eyes fluttered shut as Shiro rolled his hips and, fuck yes, his dick was definitely responding to this.

Keith wasn’t sure what Shiro was doing could actually be called dancing. In fact, he felt pretty sure that whatever glorious thing he was doing with his hips fell closer on the spectrum to sex than dancing, but with thick thighs bracketing him and a substantial dick pressed against his own, Keith was not about to get technical.

When Keith finally found the words to speak, they came out breathy and stuttered. "What about the other thing?"

Shiro's smile was almost wicked as he took a step away from Keith and, oh no. _No_. Keith wanted that warm, hard body pressed against his again. Immediately.

"I thought you might be that kind.”

“What kind?” Keith asked, already knowing the answer.

Shiro didn’t answer. Instead, he just smirked at Keith before turning around to jog across the patio. He stopped at the top of the wooden stairs that led out to the grass and makeshift dance floor, giving Keith one last exuberant smile over his shoulder before hopping down the stairs two at a time and moving to right stand at the edge of the dance floor in Keith’s direct line of sight.

Then he began to dance.

 _No_ , Keith thought. No, this could not actually be happening.

Except it was happening, and it was every wet dream and fantasy Keith had ever had rolled into one. Shiro worried his bottom lip between his teeth and moved his hips to the rhythm of the music. The song wasn’t one that Keith could recognize but something fast-paced with too much bass. Shiro's movements were too slow and didn’t even seem to match the beat, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that Shiro was objectively not a great dancer because he was dancing for Keith.

It didn’t matter that the dance floor was overcrowded and one of Shiro's feet was actually on the grass, or that other people kept bumping into him, because Keith only had eyes for Shiro.

It was obscene really, watching Shiro move his body like that. The sway of his small waist and talented hips along with the visible rise and fall of his chest.

The music changed to something that sounded like it should be in a rave, the tempo so fast no one else seemed to know how to dance to it either. For one brief moment Keith thought maybe Shiro would come back to him instead of trying to dance to this. He was wrong.

Shiro lifted his arms into the air as he spun around, head thrown back with a soft smile on his face. There was a youthful exuberance about the way he bounced to the music, unconcerned with who might be watching.

Keith didn’t know where to look, his eyes drawn so many places at once. He forced his eyes to linger in one spot, mesmerized by the way Shiro’s crop top rose up to reveal taut pink nipples and impossibly full pecs. He let himself appreciate the view for a few long seconds before his eyes were drawn down to the movement in Shiro's sweats, his dick swaying as freely as his hands. 

A soul-deep ache assaulted Keith, and not just because of how physically attractive Shiro was, but because of how happy he looked.

Keith wanted that too, wanted to feel that free and untethered by societal expectations.

Most of all though, he wanted Shiro.

Shiro on the dance floor was a wild thing—a sheen of sweat building on his flushed skin and his body moving effortlessly. He might not have been the greatest dancer ever but he was clearly confident and comfortable in his body, which was by far the sexiest thing Keith had ever seen.

Keith had spent most of his life doing anything in his power to ensure he didn’t have to dance in public. It seemed fitting that this time, as he moved towards the dance floor, it was entirely of his own accord.

Statistically, the odds of him making an ass of himself were high, but the sight of Shiro alone was just wrong. Keith wanted to be standing beside him. He wanted to laugh with him and move with him. He wanted to exist in the same space as someone as mesmerizing as Shiro.

He also really, really wanted those big hands on his hips again as their bodies swayed with the music. 

As Keith moved slowly to the dance floor, the song shifted to something slower, something made for two people who definitely know what they're doing on the floor, and Keith's heart leapt into his throat as Shiro turned his eyes on him and crooked out a finger, beckoning him close. He’d already been moving but if he hadn’t, the knowledge that Shiro wanted Keith to join him would have been enough to get his feet moving.

Keith swallowed down the last of his nerves and chugged the remainder of his peachy punch, dropping his empty cup to the floor, only minutely sorry for littering. Shiro maintained eye contact and an easy smile, rocking his hips from side to side with a hand outstretched towards Keith.

It took longer than it should for Keith to cross the backyard because he got stuck behind two very large guys arguing over craft beers, neither of whom seem to hear Keith yelling _excuse me_ , followed by a fairly tipsy girl who mistakes Keith for her boyfriend. 

By the time he's made it to Shiro, half his confidence is gone and he feels close to puking. The Christmas lights feel like a spotlight and though realistically no one has probably noticed his approach beside Shiro, he feels as if every eye is on him.

"There you are," Shiro said, blissfully unaware of Keith’s internal panic. "I was starting to think maybe I wasn't having any affect on you. Or, you know, that I was having the opposite of the desired effect and that my dancing was making you wanna run away."

Keith shook his head. "Definitely not one of the thoughts that was going through my mind."

"Yeah?" Shiro replied, reaching out a hand and laying it on Keith's hip, pulling him onto the dance floor and closer to Shiro. "Any chance you wanna tell me what kind of thoughts you were having then?"

"I'm not sure we’re on that level just yet," Keith confessed, heart thudding loudly as Shiro's other hand rested on his other hip.

"Mmm,” Shiro hummed, trying to get Keith to sway his hips. “I hear a _yet_ in there. That's a wonderful sign."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Shiro agreed. "Like I said. I'm patient. Or at least I can be when it’s worth it.”

That made Keith’s chest flutter. There he went being sweet again, the absolute fucker.

"How patient?" Keith asked, unable to believe his own hips were currently swaying against Shiro's and he had yet to fall flat on his ass or embarrass himself. Maybe dancing wasn’t as hard as Keith had always imagined, or maybe he’d just lacked the right kind of incentive to give it a try.

"I'm very—" but Shiro stopped talking as the music unexpectedly changed again.

The music was familiar this time. Too familiar. Every single hair on Keith's body stood on end and his stomach dropped. No. No. This was not happening.

Shiro looked the opposite of how Keith felt, a look of unbridled excitement spreading across his face. Several of the frat guys on the dance floor begin to cheer and holler right as Shiro started to whistle.

Oh fuck no.

"Can you blow my whistle baby, whistle baby," Shiro sang, hand on his chest as if it were some sort of serenade.

"Oh my God," Keith mumbled.

Shiro stopped to bark out a laugh at Keith before he continued to sing. Somehow his voice became louder with every line. "Boy, I'm gonna show you how to do it and we start real slow. You just put your lips together and you come real close."

Keith forgot how to breathe as he watched Shiro drag a hand provocatively down his own chest and move his hips. This was not sexy. This was not sexy. This was not allowed to be sexy.

Except it was. Fuck, it was so fucking sexy. 

Shiro put his lips together and leaned closer. Fucking fuck. Keith’s brain or his dick were going to implode. A man could only be expected to endure so much.

"Blow my whistle baby, whistle baby."

Keith had heard this god-awful song enough times in his life to know _baby_ was just one of the lyrics. But when Shiro's big dark eyes landed on him, those full, soft lips curling with the consonants in the word baby, Keith wanted drop to his knees and blow Shiro's whistle right then and there, the people watching be damned.

Keith couldn’t even be embarrassed about the thoughts flooding his brain, or the fact that he was standing there stupidly watching Shiro with his mouth hanging open.

He was dimly aware of other party goers and some of the other frat guys singing the song as well, most of them drunk and off-key and clearly trying to make the lyrics sound even more lewd. None of them, however, could hold a candle to Shiro who was crooning the words at Keith as if it were a fucking love song.

Just when Keith was sure Shiro couldn’t surprise him more, he did. He yanked off his crop top, dislodging his snapback in the process, and leaving him standing there half-naked in front of Keith as he changed the lyrics and sang, "I'm betting you like boys that give love to boys.”

Then Shiro had the actual audacity to wink, the fucker. As if Keith's heart or dick could possibly handle that. Keith felt like a live wire—adrenaline coursing through his veins and sparking under his skin, unsure if he wanted to scream or make Shiro scream.

Shiro’s chest was flushed pink from dancing, a thin sheen of sweat glistening over his body and his hair adorably mussed. His lips were pursed in a whistle, and it was not hard to imagine what he might look like in bed, or on his knees for Keith with those pretty lips pursed or hollowed for an entirely different reason.

"Come on, sing with me," Shiro begged, hands turned out in an invitation as he rocked his hips closer and closer to Keith.

Remembering how to breathe, or even just stay conscious, became increasingly difficult. 

"I don't sing."

"The same way you don't dance?" Shiro asked cheekily.

Keith shook his head. "No. I do not sing."

"Fair enough," Shiro smiled. "Guess the chorus is on me then."

He straightened his shoulders, running a hand through his hair. He looked like he was getting ready for something, but Keith's brain couldn’t begin to handle thinking about what other wild ideas Shiro might have had.

The music was so loud and Keith knew he was going to be singing this fucking song for weeks. He was so distracted by Shiro's playful smile and trying to act like a normal human being it took Keith a few seconds to realize the people around them on the dance floor had taken a step back to give them space.

Space for what, though, Keith didn’t have a fucking clue.

This time, it wasn’t Keith’s imagination playing tricks on him. Everyone was definitely watching them as Shiro bent down for his hat, slipping it onto his head backwards and pulling his floof through the hole before giving Keith a single nod.

Then he opened his fucking mouth and started to sing. Loudly. Very loudly.

"Can you blow my whistle baby, whistle baby.” He moved his body like a man who knew all eyes were on him and liked it. “Let me know"

Shiro inched closer as he sang. Keith was aware of the catcalls and whistling from the people around them, but it didn’t register, not really. Not when his brain was wholly incapable of caring about anyone or anything besides the ridiculous boy in front of him.

"Boy, I'm gonna show you how to do it." Shiro’s knees began to bend.

Oh, hell fucking no, he was not going to do what Keith thought he might be about to do. He couldn’t possibly—

"And we start real slow"

Shiro dropped to his knees as if he were born to be there. Keith’s brain short-circuited at the sight of Shiro kneeling before him, and the noise that came out of his mouth was nothing short of embarrassing. Thankfully, the sound was muffled by the hoards of people losing their shit as Shiro fucking _crawled_ to Keith.

"Shiro," Keith choked out. The name had little impact. Likely because his traitorous dick and face were making it abundantly clear that as ridiculous as this entire scenario was, Keith was completely into it.

Shiro looked so fucking proud of himself as he stopped at Keith’s feet and jutted out his chin. His thighs were spread wide, hands clasped demurely between them as he licked his lips and waited for Keith’s response. 

It was completely and utterly ridiculous. Fucking absurd! It was like one of those god- awful movies he'd watched with Hunk and Pidge except this wasn’t a movie it was real life.

It was his life. And the hottest man he'd ever seen was on his knees whistling and staring at Keith's stupidly interested dick.

"Blow my whistle baby," Shiro whispered, this time his words were only for Keith.

His eyes were wide and his attention fully on Keith. Though he’d clearly not minded the people watching him, Keith suddenly felt certain that, at the end of the day, the show had been for Keith and Keith alone. 

There was something almost sweet in the way he looked up at Keith, expression open and guileless despite the filthy innuendo of his words and movements.

There was absolutely no point in pretending he was not into it. 

Fuck, he was so into it.

Maybe he was secretly an exhibitionist and he never knew it, because the idea of everyone watching someone as beautiful as Shiro pander to Keith on his knees made Keith so fucking aroused it hurt. Shiro's face was just inches from his crotch and while his jeans were worlds more demure than Shiro's flimsy excuse for sweatpants, they were still tight enough that there probably wasn’t a person in the backyard that couldn’t tell he had a massive boner for Shiro.

"This okay?" Shiro unexpectedly whispered, his hands on Keith's hips holding him steady. 

Keith blinked. _Okay?_ Fuck. There was a sweaty, half-drunk frat Adonis of a boy on his knees singing lewd and suggestive lyrics to Keith's dick and yet, somehow, Shiro was still managing to come off as the biggest gentleman Keith had ever met. _Okay_ didn’t even begin to cover the range of emotions Keith was experiencing. 

The only thing he knew for sure was that he’d obviously been underestimating frat boys— clearly, Keith had been looking for men in the wrong fucking places. 

"Yeah," Keith confirmed with a nod. “This is okay.” Surprisingly, it was the truth. Keith wasn’t even embarrassed anymore. He was too fucking turned on to care what anyone else might be doing, or what they thought of Keith and his lack of self-control.

Shiro smiled, thumbs rubbing circles on each side of Keith’s hip for several long seconds before he tilted his head back and wolf whistled. In response, every frat guy in the near vicinity whistled back.

All too soon, Keith realized that the song was almost over. It was comical to find himself in a position to actually have the thought _I hope this song never ends_ about Flo Rida, but life was turning out to be fucking weird like that.

Shiro's hands remained on his hips, swaying them from side to side smoothly. Keith’s vision tunneled in on Shiro and the strong lines of his face and the way his big, warm hands felt guiding Keith’s movements. Fuck but he enjoyed the way it felt to have those hands on him.

Keith barely had time to appreciate the moment before Shiro’s body shifted and he was scooting closer until there was barely an inch of empty space between them and then he did the unthinkable—he buried his face in Keith's stomach. In his fucking stomach. Shiro’s face was warm, his jawline noticeable as he pressed his face just above Keith’s aching dick. He didn’t just stay there though. No, the fucker moved. His nose was squished against Keith’s lower belly, an action which rucked up the t-shirt as he rubbed his nose into Keith's treasure trail and moved Keith's hands to rest atop his head.

Keith knocked the hat right off his head and fisted his hands in Shiro's forelock.

Shiro let out a guttural sound that was unmistakably a moan at having his hair pulled and Keith's entire body flushed with heat. 

Shiro. On his knees.

Shiro was on his knees and he liked to have his hair pulled. 

Fuck.

There was a small part of Keith that was worried this might be all he ever got, and he felt damn near desperate to hear that needy little noise come out of Shiro's mouth again while he kneeled. Experimentally, Keith did it again because despite the people watching and his horror that he was not actually horrified about being watched, he couldn’t seem to stop himself. His grip was firm but gentle as he squeezed the hair and tilted Shiro’s head back just so. Shiro's bottom lip caught on Keith's jeans as Keith pulled his head back more—the delicate pale pink skin of the inside of his lip exposed and glistening. 

He used his free hand to cup the back of Shiro’s head as his eyes roamed over the long line of Shiro's arched neck and the visible bob of his Adam’s apple. The noise Keith was rewarded with for his actions had his breath catching in his throat as he stared unblinking at the man beneath him. 

Looking at Shiro was like looking at fucking porn, except better. So much better. He was warm and real—full lips, broad chest and eager eyes and on his knees for Keith. He was the most erotic thing Keith had ever seen.

The song changed into something Keith was once again unfamiliar with, and all around them the drunk partygoers went on with their night, dancing and laughing as if there weren’t two tipsy boys in the middle of the dance floor close to fucking. Keith was monumentally grateful for the short attention span most drunk people held as they ignored him and Shiro and moved on with their fun.

Shiro wasn’t moving though. Not even an inch.

Instead, he remained kneeling at Keith's feet, his legs spread wide, mouth open as he panted—his breath warm and heavy against the skin just below Keith’s belly button. It was only then that Keith realized he was not the only one whose dick had betrayed him—Shiro’s own cock was tenting his sweats, the beginning of a wet patch staining the front.

He wished he could blame the alcohol for what he did next, but even sober he knew he would’ve done it too.

With his fingers still fisted tightly in Shiro’s hair, he tugged him forward until Shiro’s chin knocked against the line of his own aching dick.

Shiro grunted out his surprise but still didn’t seem at all inclined to move. Instead, he nuzzled Keith’s erection. His eyelids fluttered shut as he dragged his cheek and lips against Keith’s dick, mouth spread wide by the stiff denim. 

It was too much. Fuck it was too much and not enough and it was so hot Keith’s brain was melting. The only reason he knew it wasn’t a hallucination this time was because not even in his in his wildest imagination could he ever have invented a scenario where this happened.

Keith had been teetering on the edge for so long and now Shiro’s perfect fucking face was rubbing against his dick. Granted, his dick was completely covered by his stupid too-thick jeans, but the reality of the situation stayed the same—the world’s hottest man was mouthing his dick and looking really turned on about it. 

One person could only be expected to have so much self-control. At least, that’s what he told himself over and over again as he felt his orgasm building but was incapable of pulling away to stop it. That was the line that repeated itself through his brain as Shiro nuzzled his dick like a goddamn eager puppy and Keith fucking came in his pants like he was a fifteen-year-old virgin.

He tried to stay quiet, really he did, but it was so fucking much to handle it was a miracle Keith hadn’t screamed yet. The hand not fisted in Shiro’s hair flew up to cover Keith’s mouth in a last-ditch attempt to muffle the ungodly whimpering sound he was unable to stop himself from making. 

Fuck, he hoped Shiro couldn’t tell.

From the look on Shiro’s face he could tell. He could definitely tell. His eyes widened in surprise because, up that close to Keith’s dick, of fucking course he could tell what happened. 

Keith was mortified and did the only thing he could.

He turned and ran.

Keith ran across the patio and through the house bellowing half-hearted apologies as he knocked into people. He ran through the front door and across the front lawn. He ran until he was halfway down the street, stopping only when he realized the dorms were too far to walk and he’d had too much alcohol to drive. Not that he would’ve abandoned Pidge or Hunk, but still.

He dropped down onto the curb and sighed, head in his hands as he stared down at his jeans. Sticky. He felt really sticky. Gross.

Keith had two options; sit on the sidewalk in his own filth for the next hour or so until his friends were done with the party, or sneak back inside to clean up and wait out his embarrassment and pray Shiro didn’t see him.

The first idea was infinitely smarter, but Keith didn’t care about smart when his dick was wet. 

Decision made, he rose to his feet and re-entered the house with his head held down, weaving through the throngs of people who were too drunk or too self-centered to notice him. Unfortunately, by the time he found the downstairs bathroom, it appeared half the party had found it too—a line of people waiting to piss or puke filled the hallway.

Shit.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he glanced around the party, eyes landing on the stairway that led upstairs to what Keith could only assume was the frat brothers’ living quarters. The bottom of the stairs was roped off with a line of what Keith could only pray were unused condoms tied together and a handwritten sign on a sheet of college-lined paper that said _No Entrance_ in black Sharpie surrounded by several hideously drawn hairy dicks.

All around him people were more interested in the insides of their red plastic cup or the person they were trying to suck faces with. The odds of anyone noticing him sneak upstairs was low, especially since he was pretty sure most of the frat guys had been outside.

It was a stupid idea. A horrible idea. It was like walking into a lion's den. No person with two brain cells trying to avoid frat boys—or one frat boy in particular—would go upstairs to their natural habitat. 

Dodging people and sneaking under the condom rope, Keith stealthily crawled up the stairs and emerged onto the landing. Unlike the sticky and trash-laden chaos of the downstairs, the hallway was pristine. The carpet looked freshly vacuumed and the walls were lined with fraternity plaques and photos of groups of frat boys dating back to the seventies.

Whatever Keith might have thought of fraternities before, he was hard-pressed to deny that it was obvious the people in this one saw it as an honor and privilege. Of course, his estimation of them dropped when he opened the first three doors and found each bedroom to be more disgusting than the last—mattresses without sheets, piles of dirty clothes littering the floors, textbooks strewn across the desk without a care, and several with condoms that were most definitely not unused.

With every door he opened in hopes of finding a bathroom, his hopes fell further and further. By the time he’d reached the last two doors at the end of the hallway, Keith had all but lost hope and resigned himself to a night of embarrassment and discomfort.

As he turned the handle on the second to last door he crossed his others fingers, saying a prayer. He pushed the door opened and nearly wept. A bathroom. An honest-to-God unused bathroom. Granted the bathroom had a pile of used towels on the floor, questionable white residue in the shower, and it smelled like someone had tried to drown themselves in Axe body spray. But it was a bathroom with a sink and toilet paper and, most importantly, no line of people waiting to use it.

Ten minutes later, Keith emerged from the bathroom refreshed and comfortably less sticky. Well, mostly. There’d only been so much he could to do clean off his boxers, but what he had been able to accomplish with the sole clean washcloth he’d found in the linen cupboard had done wonders to make him feel less like an embarrassed sex gremlin and closer to something resembling a real person. 

His fingertips had barely left the door knob when Keith became aware of deep voices filtering down the long hallway. 

Keith wasn’t entirely sure what drunk frat boys might do to someone who’d ignored the warning sign and snuck upstairs, and he didn’t want to find out. His feet were already taking him back into the bathroom to hide when the voices got close enough that he could make out what they were saying.

“Fuck, I need to piss. Can’t believe how fucking long the line is downstairs.”

“Well I’m pissing first, I drank more than you.”

Bile rose in Keith’s throat. Shit, shit, shit. If he couldn’t hide in the bathroom then where the fuck could he hide? 

“You should shower while you’re in there, smells like its been awhile.”

“You too ass wipe.” There was the sound of drunken laughter followed by what sounded like one of them being shoved into the wall. 

Unwilling to risk discovery, Keith moved without hesitation towards the only door he’d yet to open, praying it was empty. Keith crashed through the door and quietly shut it behind him just seconds before whoever had been heading to the bathroom barreled down the hallway with heavy footsteps. Keith closed his eyes and waited, back leaning against the closed door as he listened to more arguing and grumbling followed by the flushing of a toilet. The bathroom door slammed, another flush, and then the door was slamming again. Keith’s revulsion that neither of them had bothered to turn on the sink and had clearly not washed their hands was dulled only by his relief at the sound of their receding footsteps.

Keith knew that’d been close, _too close_. He needed to get his ass downstairs and probably out front before someone engaged him in a conversation he had no desire to participate in. Problem was, as soon as he opened his eyes his curiosity was too great to simply leave.

The room he was standing in was nothing like other the rooms he’d stumbled into. There was no trash or dirty laundry piled on the floor, no used sex toys or condoms, and no chaotic disarray of school work. Even in the dark, Keith could tell the room was pristine. Turning on the light would be a very bad idea, likely to increase his odds of being discovered. Unfortunately for Keith, his instincts towards self-preservation were often thwarted by the fact that he had an unnaturally high desire to try to understand things that didn’t make sense. A neat room amongst throngs of pigs parading as frat boys made no sense.

Decision made, Keith reached over and flicked on the light, a small laugh escaping his mouth as he took in the bedroom. Whoever lived in this one must not have even been at tonight’s party. He was probably off studying at the library or home for the weekend telling his mother he loved her and doing laundry. 

As his eyes roamed over the bedroom, Keith took in the small details—the perfectly made bed with exactly the same amount of black duvet hanging over each side, a collection of mostly astronaut autobiographies on the bookshelf, a row of perfectly polished white sneakers with the shoelaces tucked inside lined up at the foot of his bed, and a NASA poster on the wall above the desk. The only thing that came even close to being messy was the desk itself, which had a notebook open and filled with the same nice penmanship, several colored pens and highlighters arranged in monochromatic order beside it, and three empty coffee mugs clustered together along the edge.

Keith moved closer to examine the single photo on the edge of the bedside table. Unfortunately, it was a group shot of what looked like the entire fraternity, which gave Keith absolutely no hint as to whose room this might have been.

He eyed the drawer on the bedside table, fingers itching at his side. It would be rude to open it and snoop. Then again, whoever lived in this room was obviously not at the party and Keith didn’t plan on touching anything or stealing, he just wanted to look. No harm had ever come from looking.

Keith promised himself that whatever he saw in the drawer he wouldn’t touch and then he’d leave after.

That turned out to be a promise Keith broke the second he slid the drawer open and found a copy of _Monsters and Mana_ , his favorite manga. A smile spread across his face as he reached into the drawer and pulled it out before he had time to chastise himself for becoming a liar. It was Volume One. He couldn’t help but wonder if this guy had read Volumes Two and Three and had them stashed somewhere else, or if he’d just discovered the series. As he flipped through the book, Keith discovered multiple hot pink Post-It notes on different pages with little arrows and neat tidy scrawl with things like _I love this_ or _foreshadowing?_ written on them. 

For the second time that night, Keith realized he’d vastly underestimated frat boys by assuming they were all exactly the same.

His ass hit the bed before he could change his mind, and he leaned over to peer into the open drawer to see what had been beneath the manga. Unlike the rest of the room, which was neat and ordered, the drawer was, well, a hot mess. There were two kinds of lotion—one called Mango Paradise and another called Tahitian Vanilla—an almost empty travel Kleenex, a Target brand box of Lactaid, some stray Band-Aids, several king size candy bars, the business card for a barber place across town, a single red balloon, and a lenticular bookmark with a pride of baby lions on it. And condoms. A lot of fucking condoms. Except not just one box or one strip of them. It looked like a condom machine had exploded in his drawer—banana, ice cream, and cola flavored ones layered across the top, extra durable condoms, ultra ribbed condoms, ultra thin condoms, camouflage condoms and more—a literal rainbow of brightly-colored condom packets filled the drawer. Whoever this frat boy was, he either had a lot of sex or a compulsion to hoard the free condoms the health center was always handing out all over campus.

The rattling of the doorknob was all the warning Keith had before the door was shoved open and Keith’s entire life flashed before his eyes.

“Shit I’m so sorry I was hiding from—” but he stopped speaking the second he realized who was standing in the doorway.

It was Shiro. Except Shiro no longer looked fun loving and wanton, he looked like a puppy someone had kicked. Oh, fuck.

“Me?” he supplied, shifting from one foot to the other.

“No,” Keith answered immediately. It was obvious Shiro didn’t believe him.

“It’s okay, the party is pretty loud and there aren’t a lot of places to hide downstairs. I don’t blame you for needing a bit of quiet. I can leave.”

“You don’t have to leave, you live here. Well probably not _here_ but you know,” Keith trailed off pretty sure he wasn’t making himself sound any more coherent with the weird hand gestures.

“Uh, no I do. Live here I mean. This is my bedroom.” Shiro smiled, but it was a closed mouthed smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

It was insane how much Shiro looking dejected made Keith’s soul wither. He wanted to kick the ass of anyone who ripped the smile off Shiro’s face, including himself.

“Wait, this is _your_ room?” Keith blurted. He had a sudden burning desire to know whether the condoms were a necessity or a random collection. His curiosity was dwarfed only by the surprise he felt. For some reason, he had a hard time reconciling the wild frat boy from downstairs with the neat and domestic room he was standing in. His mother had often told him he’d inherited her quick temper and propensity to be judgmental. He felt that in his soul at this moment.

“Yeah, that surprise you?” Shiro asked. He took a step into the bedroom— _his_ bedroom—but off to the side so the doorway was left clear. Something about him so clearly giving Keith an easy way out confirmed Keith’s previous suspicions about Shiro being a good guy, and a second wave of guilt for leaving him on that dance floor alone slammed into Keith. He’d been so consumed with his own embarrassment at coming in his fucking pants, he hadn’t once thought about how Shiro might have taken his leaving.

When Keith didn’t answer right away, Shiro rubbed his hand along his cheek and began to shuffle his feet slowly backwards. “I’ll leave you alone for a bit. It’s uh—” he paused to glance at the blinking red lights of the digital clock on the side table, “It’s a quarter past eleven. I’ll make sure and stay downstairs until after one. Your friends should be done by then and you can stay here without feeling uncomfortable.”

“Wait, what?” Keith asked, the meaning of Shiro’s words only registering when Keith realized Shiro was _leaving_.

“Uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable downstairs and—”

“You didn’t!”

Shiro pursed his lips, voice quiet. “Didn’t look that way when you ran off.” 

“It wasn’t, that is to say—you know.” Keith gestured uselessly with his hand.

Shiro absolutely did not look like he knew.

“Oh fuck it. Icameinmypants,” Keith all but shouted, the words jumbled together so fast it’d have been an actual miracle if Shiro had understood even half of it.

“I’m sorry, you what?”

Keith opened his mouth then stopped at the heavy sound of approaching footsteps. It was bad enough Shiro was going to hear this confession a second time, he didn’t need someone else to hear it too. 

He stalked forward, hand on Shiro’s arm as he pulled him into the bedroom and shut the door behind them. Shiro looked perplexed as he stared at Keith’s fingers still wrapped tightly around the girth of his bicep then back up to Keith’s face. Up this close, Keith could still smell the punch and peach vodka on his breath, could trace the lines of those full lips that had been singing to Keith not that long ago, and was close enough to count every strand of white hair that his hand had been fisted in. It was torture being this close to Shiro and not touching him, but Keith wasn’t sure his touch would be welcome after his untimely abandonment.

“Before. Out on the dance floor. You didn’t make me uncomfortable.” Shiro raised an eyebrow and Keith shrugged. “Alright, I mean alright maybe I was a little unsure at the beginning, but if I hadn’t liked what was happening I would’ve told you. Trust me. I’m a big boy and I know how to take care of myself. If you had crossed the line, I would’ve kicked you in the balls.”

Instead of looking offended, Shiro looked pleased. “ _Oh_.”

“Yeah. So you know...I liked it. I liked it a lot.”

“Yeah?” Shiro breathed, some of the light returning to his eyes. “You did?”

“Well, it’s not every day a boy serenades you with something so romantic and soft.”

Shiro snorted, his shoulders shaking with repressed laughter. 

Pleasure blossomed in Keith’s chest. He liked being the reason for Shiro’s happiness. He liked it a lot. He liked the way Shiro’s lips curled up and the way his eyes brightened. It was addictive, and Keith wanted to be the cause of that amusement and happiness again. He wanted to do something—anything—that might earn him another brilliant smile. Unfortunately, he knew he needed to explain his Houdini act before that might happen.

“So, you liked the song then, huh?” Shiro asked. He’d hooked his thumbs into the corners of his pockets, an action that tugged the sweats down lower in the front again. Keith’s brain momentarily froze at the sharp V of his hips and the thick treasure trail. He wondered what kind of expression might cross Shiro’s face if Keith went on his knees for him.

“No,” he said, barely able to keep a straight face at the pout that was forming on Shiro’s. Honestly, fuck him and his stupid cute face. It should be illegal to be that cute pouting. 

Keith shook his head, desperately trying to clear it of thoughts of Shiro’s dick in his mouth so he could get out the words that would likely ensure he would never have that dick in his mouth. The idea of lying filtered into his brain, but he dismissed it just as quickly as it had come. As much as Keith didn’t want to embarrass himself with the truth and ruin his chances with Shiro, the idea of lying to him was even worse. Keith hated liars, and he wasn’t about to become one just to save face.

“I hate that fucking song. But I like you.” Keith didn’t look away, his gaze unrelenting as he waited for Shiro to look at him. When he did, Keith didn’t know how to read the expression he saw. “I feel like maybe I’m the one who surprised you this time.”

“I gotta be honest, I feel like I’m getting some mixed signals,” Shiro confessed, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck.

“Sorry about that. And the uh...thing. The thing where I sort of, you know...ran away.”

Keith’s heart stuttered in his chest as he spoke the words, blood pulsing harshly through his veins as he forced himself to remain calmer on the outside than he felt on the inside. For once, having a mom who was a CIA hostage negotiator was paying off as he mentally recounted her many words of wisdom about staying calm in the face of immeasurable stress to diffuse tension and increase survivals rates. Granted, his mom’s paranoia had been about preparing Keith for worst case scenarios like active shooters or hostage situations and not how to tell the guy he liked that he’d come in his pants untouched, but his mom wasn’t there and she didn’t need to know where her lessons on meditation and calmness under pressure were being used.

“So, the message I’m getting here is that maybe you don’t want me to leave then?” Shiro offered, the beginnings of a smile appearing on his face.

Keith licked his lips and nodded. “I definitely don’t want you to leave.”

“Any chance you wanna tell me why you left, or is that as secret as your name?” Shiro’s voice was teasing, but there was a tightness in his eyes. It was the same guarded expression Shiro had worn when he’d told Keith he wanted to be sure that Keith would still want him when he was sober. It hit Keith then that he wanted a lot more from Shiro than a drunken one night stand—he wanted to know Shiro’s secrets, to know what made him happy and what made him sad. He wanted to know what other unexpected things Shiro liked along with his secret love of manga and near military-level attention to neatness.

He wanted to _know_ Shiro.

Mustering every ounce of courage he possessed, Keith took a deep breath, lifting his eyes to Shiro’s. “I was embarrassed because I came in my pants.”

If Keith hadn’t been so sick to his stomach with unease, he would’ve laughed at the expression on Shiro’s face—the human embodiment of a surprised pikachu—his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open.

“Yeah,” Keith mumbled, dropping his eyes. “I know, it was fucking embarrassing. I’m sorry.”

“I feel like maybe I’m missing something,” Shiro said, his voice unnaturally high. He was probably trying to figure out how not to make Keith feel bad for being an overly horny weirdo.

“I don’t do stuff like that.” Shiro’s eyes widened and Keith wanted to slam his head into the wall just to make his mouth stop working. He was _so_ not making things any better. “Shit, I mean, no—I do. I do have sex. I’ve definitely had sex. More than once. Not like a sex fiend but, you know, like a normal amount. I just don’t do...party things. It’s not usually my scene. And I don’t really have sex with a lot of people. Or maybe I’ve only done it once and then tonight. Not that what we were doing was uh, sex. Fuck why am I still talking.”

Keith’s entire face was hot, and he didn’t need a mirror to know he probably looked like a rotten tomato. Fucking fuck.

Shiro cleared his throat, but Keith’s eyes remained firmly on the carpet until Shiro’s fingers were on his chin, tilting it up so that Keith was looking at him. Shiro didn’t look horrified, nor did he look like he was about to laugh at Keith and call him pathetic.

“So, what you’re telling me is that the guy I like and was trying very hard to impress tonight came just from watching me? Without being touched?” Shiro looked inordinately pleased.

“I mean, technically you rubbed your face against my dick. There were a few layers between us but you know...yeah.” The temptation to look at the floor was strong, but not as strong as the one to keep looking at Shiro.

Shiro smiled. “Alright, correction. The guy I’ve been trying to get to notice me for weeks was so turned on by my incredible dancing and vocal skills he came from one touch of—

“I’m sorry, what?” Keith interrupted loudly. 

Shiro looked almost bashful, a pink hue tinting his high cheekbones. “I uh, might’ve begged Matt to invite Pidge so she’d bring you. And I might’ve been showing off every time I knew you’d be here. Just a little bit.”

Keith blinked, unsure what to say. Shiro had rendered him speechless. In the span of a few seconds, everything had turned upside down. The conversation was not going even remotely close to how he’d anticipated it might.

“I think you’re going to need to back up. How do you know Pidge? And how do you know I’m friends with her?”

“Matt. My best friend Matt, the asshole in the kitchen reciting the rules to us. That’s Pidge’s older brother. I saw a picture of you on her Instagram when I stole Matts phone at the beginning of term and sorta um...thought you were gorgeous and begged Matt to introduce me.” He said the last bit quickly, the tips of his ears turning red. “It took months for him to agree to invite Pidge to one of our parties. He kept saying it’d be gross to see his baby sister here, but I finally wore him down. Then you showed up that first night and, well, I wasn’t sure if I was your type or you’d be interested, so I kept trying to get you to notice me.”

“Oh, I noticed you,” Keith all but laughed, his head spinning from Shiro’s confession.

“Yeah?” Shiro whispered, ducking his head. It was hard to believe the boy who’d just been on his knees giving Keith a faux blow job on the dance floor in front of a crowd of people could be shy about this kind of confession. Then again, Keith understood all too well how things felt different when you liked someone.

“Were you really trying to get my attention?” Keith asked, unable to believe it.

“Maybe just a tiny bit,” Shiro answered.

“Just a little bit?” he asked, lifting a questioning eyebrow.

Shiro laughed, the smallest hint of dimple popping up in his chin. “Alright, maybe a lot. Matt said I was starting to look like a peacock showing off. He told me tonight that if I didn’t go say hi to you, he was going to kick me out of the frat.”

“Did he dare you to sing to me too?” Keith swallowed audibly, rubbing the palms of his hands across his jeans. He didn’t want to think poorly of Shiro but the idea of it being some sort of dare or something to prove to his frat brothers had suddenly entered his mind and wouldn’t leave.

“That was—no. It’s not what you’re thinking. Or, at least, I _think_ I know what you’re thinking. Matt was just being a good friend and trying to get me to stop being an idiot and do something about my crush. I wasn’t trying to prove anything to him or anything else.”

“So the song was just—”

“Just for you.”

“Oh.” Keith felt warm all over, but for entirely different reasons than just a few minutes ago. “So you don’t think it’s lame about the uh—” he gestured vaguely in the direction of his dick and grimaced.

“Not lame at all,” Shiro whispered, inching closer to Keith. “Hot. So hot, fuck.”

“Hot?” Keith choked out, brain already short-circuiting at how close Shiro was. Fuck, how did he still smell so good. Keith wanted to shove his face in his neck and breathe him in deeply, or maybe even lick him. He’d never wanted to lick someone before, and he didn’t let himself dwell too long on whether that was weird or not.

“So hot,” Shiro agreed, those big hands moving closer until several of his fingers were twined in the hair at the back of Keith’s neck again. Keith shivered, mouth falling open of its own accord. “Bit of an ego boost too. Good for my confidence.”

“You don’t look like you need any help in that area.”

“Appearances can be deceiving,” Shiro replied. He’d leaned down so that his floof was fluttering against Keith’s forehead, his lips hovering close to Keith’s, though in a promise or a tease he couldn’t be sure. “Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?”

“My mom,” Keith answered without thinking. Then he wanted to kick himself. He really needed to stock thinking about his mom around Shiro.

“Fuck, you’re sweet,” Shiro said with a soft laugh, his lips brushing over Keith’s as he spoke. “I want to kiss you.”

“Then do it.”

Shiro didn’t need to be told twice, his lips descending on Keith’s before he’d barely got the last syllable out. It was different than in the kitchen, no surprise or hesitancy, just urgency. Shiro kissed like he meant it, those long fingers curling around the back of Keith’s neck and his other hand resting at the base of Keith’s spine. Shiro had definitely had more punch, his lips sticky sweet and addicting as he let out a soft sigh of pleasure into the kiss.

As the kiss deepend, Shiro pulled Keith flush against his body, and it wasn’t until Shiro’s erection was pressed against hip did Keith realize his own dick was already getting hard again. Fuck, someone like Shiro should be illegal. He’d barely done anything and Keith was so turned on already. 

“God you—” Shiro gasped.

“Keith,” he got out between kisses. “My name is Keith.”

Shiro made a quiet noise in the back of his throat—almost a whimper—as he crashed his lips into Keith’s and dug his fingers into his spine, the kiss turning sloppy.

“Keith,” he whispered.

Keith shuddered, an expected wave of pleasure rolling through his entire body at the sound of his name in Shiro’s voice. Fuck, Shiro had a nice voice.

“Keith,” he said it again, as if he were doing it just because he could. 

“That’s my name,” Keith laughed against Shiro’s lips, delighting in the way Shiro had begun to stroke the skin beneath the hem of his t-shirt.

“I like your name. Like everything about you,” Shiro said as he pressed chaste little kisses to the side of Keith’s mouth. 

“Fuck,” Keith groaned, unable to think of anything more eloquent to say. The fact that he hadn’t come in his pants again already was a miracle. Getting words out while the guy of his dreams touched him and told him he was pretty should’ve earned Keith a goddamn medal.

“I wasn’t joking before,” Shiro said, breath ghosting across the shell of Keith’s ear. “I really do wanna blow your whistle.”

Keith snorted, pulling back to look at Shiro’s face. “That was really bad.”

Shiro stuck his bottom lip out. “I thought it was cute.”

“It was not cute, but you are,” Keith said, earning him a bashful smile. “You can blow my whistle. Shit, I can’t believe I just said that sentence out loud.”

Shiro grinned. “Want me to blow your whistle baby, whistle baby?”

“Oh my God, don’t sing that song again or it’ll be in my head for weeks.”

“Yes, sir,” Shiro said seriously, snapping his lips shut and mock saluting Keith. Keith’s dick shouldn’t have gotten harder at that, but it did. Fuck, it did.

“Can I do this?” Shiro asked, moving towards Keith again and letting his lips ghost down the side of Keith’s neck.

“Yes.”

“What about this?” he checked, nimble fingers lipping beneath the hem of the t-shirt and started to lift it up.

Keith nodded, lifting his arms above his head as Shiro continued to pull the shirt off. Instead of chucking it on the floor, he carefully folded it before depositing it on the floor.

“Sorry, army kid. Old habits die hard,” Shiro confided when he caught Keith’s eye.

“You’d probably hate my room then,” Keith said, thinking of the pile of clean but unsorted and unfolded laundry sitting at the foot of his bed.

“Does this mean you might want to show it to me some time, then?” Shiro asked softly, his mouth back on Keith’s neck and now moving along the curve of his shoulder. This didn’t seem like a blowjob to Keith, but he wasn’t about to complain. Foreplay was a vastly underutilized endeavor, and Keith was very much a fan of being touched—especially by Shiro.

“I might,” Keith answered. The truth was, Keith wanted nothing more than to see Shiro again, to meet him in the library to study or in the quad for shitty half-priced coffee on Fridays. He wanted to bring Shiro back to his dorm to meet his friends, and crowd them together in his too-small bed and watch scary movies on his laptop, and take him to the place downtown Hunk found last week with one dollar tacos on Tuesday, and try to hold his hand on the back of the movie theater. 

He wanted, fuck—he wanted to _date_ Shiro. Problem was, he wasn’t sure what Shiro wanted though, not yet. _Maybe_ seemed liked a safer answer than _please don’t let this be a one time thing_. Not that Keith was under some pretense that Shiro needed to promise him forever after a blowjob, but Keith was hard-pressed to recall ever being so attracted or drawn to another person. Whatever this was, Keith wanted to find out.

“What do you like?” Shiro’s voice was thick as honey, and it took Keith a few seconds to realize Shiro’s question required an answer.

“I mean...a mouth on my dick is pretty fucking spectacular. I’m not picky.”

Shiro laughed, the rumbling sensation reverberating against Keith’s shoulder where Shiro was trying to muffle his amusement. “Mouth on dick. Got it. Sounds difficult, but I can try to to satisfy.”

“Smart ass,” Keith chastised, glad Shiro couldn’t see his blush. “Why, what do you like?”

“I like it when my partner feels good. Really good. I like when my partner is noisy, really noisy. I like my hair pulled and my hips held tight enough to leave marks. I love swallowing and the way it feels for someone to go soft in my mouth. I like the sound of sweaty skin slapping together and the unmistakable sounds of someone being fucked good.”

Keith was the one to make a noise at that. It didn’t escape Keith’s notice that who might be the one getting fucked was vague and his head spun. He wanted to fuck Shiro as much as he wanted to be fucked by him, and even the one percent chance that Shiro might be into both scenarios made his dick twitch in his pants. Fuck, he hoped those would come off soon.

“So you, uh, have a lot of sex then?” Keith mumbled, trying for casual.

If the way Shiro pulled back to squint at him in way that was too adorable to be allowed was anything to go by, he’d missed the mark with his tone entirely. 

“Not so much. I was with my ex-boyfriend for...a while.” He shrugged, that same shuttered expression crossing his face. Keith had never felt so protective of someone he’d just met, horrified to realize how much he wanted to kick this ex’s ass (or say thank you for being an absolute idiot). “Long enough to know exactly what I like.”

“Oh,” Keith breathed, his eyes inexplicably drawn to the drawer of condoms.

“Yeah, and he wasn’t what I wanted,” Shiro said, squatting lower to press a trail of kisses down Keith’s quivering stomach. “And for the record, I don’t use all those condoms—I’ve been collecting as many as I can to prank Matt for his birthday next month.”

“Oh, that’s...good. I mean, not that you have to make promises or anything, but, you know. That’s good to know. Just to know.”

Keith contemplated closing his eyes, wondering if he stopped staring at Shiro and his cute hair sticking out of his stupid hat and his cute lips and beautiful eyes, maybe he’d stop rambling like someone who’d never had any real social interactions before or only knew ten words. Unfortunately, closing his eyes would’ve deprived him of the sight of Shiro on his knees, and that wasn’t a sacrifice Keith felt capable of making. 

By some miracle, Shiro didn’t seem to mind his inane speaking. If anything, Keith would have sworn Shiro’s lips were forming a smile against his stomach just to the side of his belly button as his kisses moved lower. Shiro pressed a last single kiss to the jut of Keith’s hipbone before sitting back on his heels to stare up at Keith, his fingers lingering at the buttons of his jeans as he slowly undid the top one. His eyes never left Keith’s.

“For what it’s worth, casual sex isn’t really my thing.” Shiro’s voice was dripping with earnestness.

Keith swallowed, almost afraid to voice his next words but unable to stop himself all the same. “Is this an exception to your usual or…”

“This is me knowing I’d like anything you’d be willing to give me. But if you thought you’d say yes, I really, really want to ask you out later.”

“We might be doing this a little backwards,” Keith laughed, stomach fluttering as Shiro got the zipper down and slid his pants and boxers slowly down his thighs. “But, for the record, if you did ask me I’d definitely say yes.”

Shiro’s smile was brilliant, the dimple in his chin fully formed as he yanked the jeans and boxers down to Keith’s ankles in one efficient tug. Ever the gentleman, he steadied Keith, politely not laughing when Keith nearly fell on his ass trying to kick off his pants and shoes. Shiro waited for Keith to right himself before resuming his mapping of Keith’s body, this time dragging his lips down the inside of Keith’s trembling thighs, alternating open mouthed kisses and small nips as his fingers kneaded the flesh of Keith’s ass cheeks. As he moved lower, the length of his forelock brushed the tip of Keith’s now fully erect dick along with the stiff canvas of his snapback. It was a strange juxtaposition of sensations, and Keith’s hips thrust forward, smearing a line of pre-come across the pristine black cap.

Shiro paused, his bottom lip catching on Keith’s inner thigh, exposing the soft pink flesh inside and a glimmer of white teeth as he turned lust-hooded eyes on Keith and smiled in a way that could only be described as self-satisfied. 

“You like when I touch you?”

Keith didn’t trust himself to speak so he nodded instead. He might not have had that many past partners, but he was no blushing virgin or stranger to sex. Still, he’d never had someone take so much time trying to learn his body—mapping his body as if they were mapping the stars. 

It was heady the way Shiro moved with the utmost patience. His own dick was tenting his sweats, leaving a damp spot and no question about how turned on he was, but not once did he rush or hurry his movements—his sole focus was on Keith’s pleasure. Shiro kissed and licked and sucked and stroked his way from the top of Keith’s hips to the bottom of his ankles and back again until Keith felt certain he might actually weep if Shiro didn’t put that teasing tongue and full lips on his dick. It was almost strange to be completely naked while Shiro kneeled in his sweats with his cap still on, but it was erotic too, knowing everything Shiro was doing was to make Keith feel good.

By the time Shiro’s supple lips were falling open to wrap around Keith’s dick, he had lost all sense of reality. The world had narrowed down to the way the pads of Shiro’s strong fingers felt cascading over his thighs, his nails skimming along the hair of Keith’s calves as they moved lower. His eyes trained on the furrow between Shiro’s eyebrows as he touched and tasted as if memorizing Keith’s every response. Then suddenly, Keith’s dick was in Shiro’s mouth, and Keith made a vaguely choking sound, fisting his hands in the hair sticking out of Shiro’s cap, which was more to steady himself than Shiro. Keith watched Shiro suck him down until his nose was pressed up against the dark curls above Keith’s cock.

“Jesus fucking fuck,” Keith ground out. Somehow after all that teasing, he’d expected Shiro to be as slow and methodical with the blowjob—not deep throat him like a goddamn porn star.

Shiro’s mouth was too full to say anything, but the sound he emitted was one of unmistakable pleasure, almost like the low rumble of a pleased kitten. With Shiro’s previous words still fresh in Keith’s mind, he hooked his thumb into the hole of Shiro’s snapback and pushed it off his head. Shiro’s pace didn’t falter, though his eyes moved up to Keith with curiosity as Keith dragged his nails across Shiro’s scalp, grabbing a fistful of it and pulling—not hard enough to hurt, but definitely hard enough for Shiro to really feel it.

Though he’d toyed with the hair pulling on the dance floor and had seen Shiro’s positive response, Keith still felt unprepared for the loud moan Shiro graced him with—the vibrations from Shiro’s throat tickling his cockhead. Keith fisted the hair tighter and, sure enough, Shiro made another sinful noise. The room filled with the sounds of Shiro’s obvious pleasure and the wet slurping sound as he feasted on Keith’s cock.

Most of Keith’s experiences with blowjobs had seen them treated either as a necessary prelude to sex or as an equal exchange of sexual favors. Keith didn’t hate giving them, but he didn’t love it, and his previous partners’ mediocre feelings about the act had left him wondering what all the fuss was about. But Shiro, fuck, Shiro clearly liked being on his knees, and it was seriously making Keith re-evaluate his position.

“You’re really—ah, fuck,” Keith bit out, his free hand petting the rest of Shiro’s hair. “You’re really good at that.”

Shiro preened under the praise, the muscles of his throat loosening as he took Keith all the way down again and rubbed his nose into the patch of hair. Shiro’s breath was hot, the air from his nose ruffling the short curls as he dug his thumbs into Keith’s hip, urging him impossibly deeper.

“Fuck, if you don’t stop I’m going to come,” Keith yelled, pushing Shiro’s head back a bit. It was a miracle he’d lasted this long as it was, and only the fact that he’d come prematurely in his pants had allowed him to last more than a few seconds inside Shiro’s gloriously warm and talented mouth.

There was a popping sound as Shiro sucked his way off Keith’s dick, lips swollen and pink as he licked them. “That’s sort of the point.”

“Yeah but then, uh—” he blew out a breath trying to figure out how to word his thoughts. He had no idea what the right way to broach it might be. “I mean, not that you said you wanted more, and if this is all you want, you know, it's good. Really fucking good. But I was thinking, you know...just thinking maybe—”

“Thinking what?” Shiro asked, voice husky. Husky from Keith’s dick sliding down his throat.

“Thinking I could fuck you,” he blurted out before he could lose his nerve. Shiro’s previous wording had left Keith under the impression that he might like being fucked, and he seemed to like Keith, which meant it was at least a probability. 

Shiro blinked twice, and Keith wanted to knock himself unconscious. Only he could manage to ruin the mood of the best blow job of his entire life. Shiro rose to his feet and Keith closed his eyes, preparing for the let down. Instead, what came next was Shiro’s big hands on his thighs hefting him up as Shiro carried him the few feet to the bed and dropped him onto it. Keith barely had time to register what was happening before Shiro had kicked off his clothes and was climbing on the bed, hands bracketed on either side of Keith’s head and his body pressed against Keith’s. Keith tried to catch a glimpse of Shiro’s cock, but it was hidden between their bodies, though the feeling alone of it against him was enough to convince Keith his suspicions of its girth had been accurate.

“You wanna fuck me, baby?” Shiro whispered.

“Jesus,” Keith breathed.

“You said it once, tell me again. Tell me what you want, please.” Shiro rolled his hips, the line of his cock rubbing against Keith’s in a delicious drag that did nothing to quell the ache deep inside of Keith.

“I wanna fuck you. If you’re into that sort of thing. If you wanted to fuck me instead I’m good with that too. Honestly, both of us being naked at the same time was a good fucking idea. I’m good with anything involving this level of nakedness.”

Shiro smirked, dropping his head to rub his nose against Keith’s in an obscenely sweet move that was in direct contrast to the filthy way he was rolling his hips. “I’m into that. I’m so into that. You wanna bend me in half, Keith? Wanna fill the room with the sounds of you fucking me until I beg?”

Keith nearly choked on his own tongue. What the fuck kind of question was that? “Do you, uh, you beg?”

Shiro hummed, pressing Keith down into the mattress with his thick thighs and strong hips. “I’d beg for you, baby.”

That was the last straw for Keith, who used every bit of the training his mom taught him for how to overpower someone twice your size—another thing she did not ever need to know—to reverse their positions so that it was Keith straddling Shiro. Shiro, who was blinking up at him with wide eyes.

“You...you’re strong,” Shiro breathed. Keith smiled, relieved to not be the one rendered speechless for once.

“I know how to handle myself. And you. I can definitely handle you.” He was at least half joking, but the noise Shiro made in response was anything but funny—a desperate keening sound tearing from his throat as he surged up to kiss Keith with none of the patience or finesse he’d possessed earlier. Keith didn't even have time to try and think what he should do next because almost immediately, Shiro was wrapping his gloriously thick thighs around Keith’s waist and surging up. Shiro’s hold was strong, his hands roaming over Keith’s back gently.

“Do you wanna do it or should I?” Shiro grunted as he writhed beneath Keith, whose brain was barely functioning at sixty percent capacity and therefore could not be expected to follow along. 

Thankfully, Shiro seemed to realize Keith was distracted as he paused rutting up against Keith to throw an arm out to the bedside drawer and yank it open. A moment later, his hand returned triumphantly clutching a small bottle of lube that must’ve been hidden and a bright red condom. Keith barely had time to read the words _ribbed for pleasure_ before Shiro tossed the condom onto the mattress and pressed the lube into Keith’s hand.

Most of Keith’s experience with this lay within himself, but since that was something he did almost every day that ended in Y, he felt pretty confident in his abilities. Shiro might’ve been good on his knees, but Keith knew how to use his hands.

Without an ounce of hesitation, Keith scooted backwards, letting Shiro’s legs fall from his waist and onto the mattress as he nudged his knees apart with his elbows. 

“Sorry if my hands are cold,” Keith told him, squirting a generous amount of lube onto his fingers before moving his hand to Shiro’s ass. He didn’t see the point in teasing, not when he was pretty sure he wouldn’t last that long. He was already so close to the edge from Shiro’s mouth, and now he was facing the prospect and fingering and fucking the hottest man on the planet who for some reason was staring at Keith like he was some sort of prize.

“Just relax okay,” Keith told him, stroking a finger over the furrowed muscle. 

“That’s like telling a kid to relax before Christmas.”

Keith snorted out a laugh, hair falling into his face as he ducked his head and pressed the tip of his finger in. Rather than watch Shiro’s face, he watched his body and the soft rise and fall of Shiro’s stomach and the quiver in his thigh muscles as Keith’s first finger disappeared into his body. 

Now that Shiro was spread out beneath him, Keith allowed himself a good look. Not just at Shiro’s bulging biceps, full pecs or small waist, but also at the dark treasure trail Keith had seen disappearing beneath the sweats earlier. Now that Keith could see _everything_ , though, he could see that Shiro was clearly someone who, unlike Keith, groomed himself. 

“Enjoying the view?” Shiro asked a bit breathlessly, pillowing his head on his folded arms.

“Like you don’t know what you look like,” Keith said, crooking his finger and delighting in the visible shiver than coursed through Shiro’s body.

“Could say the same thing about you.”

Keith didn’t dignify that with an answer, but the pleasure he felt at knowing Shiro found him attractive was undeniably arousing. Not that Keith needed more reasons to be aroused.

“You always talk so much during sex?” Keith asked, feeling along the rippled walls of Shiro’s channel, stretching it open before slowly slipping a second finger in.

“Only when the company is good.”

Keith blushed again, unused to being complimented in the middle of fingering someone. The kind of sex he’d had hadn’t exactly been quiet, but there’d been a lot more grumbled words and noises and a lot less laughter and fun. It was one more thing that surprised him about Shiro, and one more thing to add to the growing list of reasons Keith really, really liked him.

Shiro’s commentary continued as Keith scissored his fingers open, twisting them and pumping them in and out. Then, Keith added a third finger and Shiro got a lot less chatty. Instead of words, there was the way his legs fell apart, the arch of his spine as he pushed back on Keith’s finger, and the exhale of pleasure when Keith kissed a trail from the inside of Shiro’s knee to the sensitive skin where his thigh met his hips. Shiro was free with the signs of his obvious pleasure, making it easy for Keith to know when to go harder or faster or when to slow down.

“How do you want me?” Keith asked in a quiet voice, pulling his fingers out to grab the condom.

It took Shiro a few seconds to open his eyes, then he rose onto his elbows to watch Keith roll on the condom. Keith tried not to blush under the intensity of Shiro’s gaze, equal parts aroused and unused to feeling so seen.

“I like it a lot of ways. How do you want to give it to me?” 

Keith’s hand stilled at the base of his dick. Fuck. Every time he thought Shiro couldn’t say anything else that would make his arousal flare, he was proven wrong. He barely knew how to answer that question. The idea of bending Shiro in half and having Shiro wrap those thighs around him as he fucked him was beyond erotic. Problem was, Keith knew if he could see Shiro’s face as he dicked him down he was going to come in one thrust. 

“On your hands and knees,” he told Shiro, a thrill of anticipation coursing through his body as Shiro gave him a smile before rolling over. Then, all coherent thought left Keith’s brain because Shiro was spreading his knees wide, resting his head on his folded arms and his ass up high in the air ready for Keith.

Keith reached out a hand to ghost his fingers over the generous swell of Shiro’s pert ass, watching as Shiro’s hole twitched. It was glistening with lube and so pink and, fuck it all, Keith wanted to fuck him so much.

“Fuck you’re hot,” Keith murmured, more to himself than Shiro as he wrapped his left hand around Shiro’s hip and lined up his cock. “Ready?”

“Ready,” Shiro echoed, voice mumbled against the skin of his forearm. 

As much as Keith had wanted to see Shiro’s face, there was no denying the eroticism of watching the muscles in Shiro’s back ripple as he writhed, or the way Shiro’s spine curved as Keith’s dick disappeared into his body.

There were no more words as Keith finally began to fuck Shiro, which Keith was grateful for because there wasn’t a chance in hell his brain could have responded to anything. It was talking all his concentration and self-control not to come immediately as the tight, hot heat of Shiro’s ass engulfed his dick. He pulled back until nothing but the tip was left then slammed his hips back in, delighting in throaty moan it earned him. 

Shiro had said he liked the sounds of sex, liked when someone got fucked into the mattress. Well, Shiro was that someone, and Keith wanted to give him exactly what he wanted.

Shiro began to shift as Keith picked up the pace, rising onto his hands to give him better purchase to thrust back and match Keith’s pace. Shiro clearly liked to give as good as he got, and Keith wondered if he might fuck Keith with the same kind of gentle intensity. Keith really fucking hoped he would get a chance to find out.

“Keith,” Shiro breathed, the first thing he’d said since Keith had began to fuck him. 

“Yeah?” Keith got out, voice tight as he snapped his hips.

“I want...God, please.”

The sound of that pleasure in Shiro’s halfway-to-ruined voice was more than Keith could handle. He wanted more. He wanted to know what Shiro sounded like when he really begged.

“What do you want?” Keith asked.

“I want—” but then Shiro stopped, making a choking sound as Keith slammed into him hard, the skin of Shiro’s ass slapping against Keith’s hips. “Nngh.”

Euphoria engulfed Keith. Fuck, it was exhilarating to be the one who caused someone like Shiro to lose coherence.

“What do you want, big guy?” Keith asked again.

“Shit,” Shiro grunted, his hands fisting tightly in the duvet. He turned his head to glance at Keith over his shoulder, and what Keith saw made his hips still. Shiro’s eyes were blown wide with lust, hair sticking up funny in the front and his entire face flushed pink. He looked wrecked. Wrecked because of Keith. Fuck.

Keith inhaled slowly, struggling to catch his breath as his hands slid over Shiro’s lower back. “Yeah?”

“I want, uh—”

“Tell me,” Keith urged, echoing Shiro’s earlier words to him.

Shiro reached an arm behind his back until he found Keith’s hand and moved it upwards towards his head. “Please. _Please._ ”

“Oh, you want me to pull?”

Shiro swallowed, eyes fluttering shut as Keith slid his fingers into Shiro’s soft locks.

“You want me to fuck you good? Pull your hair? You want me to make you mine?” Keith choked out, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” Shiro whined, neck arched and shoulders taut with tension. “Please, Keith.”

 _I’d give you anything_ Keith thought, slamming his dick into Shiro’s body as he tightened his hold on Shiro’s hair. 

Keith had always been a bit of an all-or-nothing person, it was one of the reasons he didn’t date that much. Casual wasn’t a word Keith’s brain understood, and sometimes it was exhausting to feel so much and know the odds of those feelings being returned were low. Apparently, he wanted to give Shiro his all but, instead of scaring him, it just felt right.

Keith lost himself to the sounds of sex.—to the filthy sounds of his dick sliding into Shiro’s lube slicked body, to the needy high-pitched moans Shiro let out every time Keith pulled his hair in time with his thrusts, and to the slap of skin-on-skin every time he bottomed out. Wanting to try something, Keith let go of Shiro’s hair, ignoring Shiro’s soft sound of disappointment as Keith dragged his nails firmly across Shiro’s scalp.

Keith was rewarded with a sound that was nothing short of illegal and, with absolutely no warning, Keith found his orgasm ripped from his body, his hips stuttering as he collapsed atop Shiro’s back with an undignified grunt.

Unwilling to be the only one tipped over the edge, Keith nosed against the side of Shiro’s throat before sucking hard as he reached beneath Shiro’s body and wrapped his hand around Shiro’s cock.

“Oh, God, yes,” Shiro huffed, seemingly unbothered by Keith’s heavy weight on top of him. Shiro easily remained on his hands and knees without any indication he was strained from Keith’s dead weight on his back, supporting them both as Keith stroked Shiro’s cock. Keith marveled at the weight and thickness of Shiro’s cock in his hand, eager to have it in his ass or mouth next time. God, he hoped there was a next time.

Keith moved his free hand from where it had fallen against the bed up to Shiro’s hair, not pulling this time but simply playing with it instead. Shiro, it seemed, liked anything involving attention to his head, his breath hitching audibly as Keith massaged his scalp and twined his fingers through the long strands at the front. Keith’s focus on Shiro’s dick faltered as he turned most of his attention to Shiro hair—nails scratching the scalp, hand fisting in his hair in the softest of tugs. If Shiro noticed that Keith’s grip on his dick loosened, or his strokes became uneven, he didn’t show it, preening under Keith’s ministrations.

“Perfect,” Keith whispered into the sweat-dampened skin of Shiro’s neck as he surged up to suck his earlobe into his mouth. The result was unexpected and instantaneous, and the second Keith’s teeth were grazing over the delicate skin of Shiro’s ear, Shiro emitted a guttural groan and came hard and fast, coating Keith’s hand and the bed in his release before collapsing.

Keith grunted in surprise as they fell together, Shiro’s ear slipping from his mouth as Shiro shoved his face into his pillow and made a sound so overwhelmingly pleased, Keith knew he would be jerking off to that sound alone for weeks to come.

Too sticky to remain in one place, Keith rolled over, wiping his come-coated hand on Shiro’s already ruined duvet and removing the condom. Shiro grunted again, still boneless and face down in the bed, and Keith shook his head in fondness before opening the bedside drawer to find the Kleenex to clean them up. Once he was done, Keith collapsed down next to Shiro on his side, heart fluttering as Shiro turned to look at him.

There was a bit of drool on the side of Shiro’s mouth, his hair was sticking up in a million directions, and his face was awash with blissed out satisfaction as he threw an arm and leg over Keith and pulled him closer.

“Oh, you like to cuddle,” Keith marvelled.

Shiro hummed out something that Keith assumed was meant to be an agreement as he rubbed his nose into Keith’s neck like a satisfied puppy. Unable to resist the lure, Keith’s hands found their way back to Shiro’s hair, gently petting it back. Shiro sighed in happiness, his body going boneless again.

“You gonna fall asleep?” Keith laughed.

“Mmm, might. You mind?” Shiro asked, breath hot and heavy against Keith’s neck.

“I don’t mind,” Keith answered, not at all tired, but very content with the idea of lying with Shiro’s naked weight pressing him down.

“Nap first,” Shiro muttered.

“Yeah, and what’s second?”

“Wanna fuck you,” Shiro said, voice unmistakably sleepy. “Then more sleep. Then more fucking. Then take you out to breakfast. I want pancakes.”

Keith felt the smile split his face in half at Shiro’s words. “You asking me on a date?”

“Yeah,” Shiro breathed, the barest hint of a kiss pressed to the underside of Keith’s jaw before Shiro settled his head on Keith’s shoulder. “You saying yes?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” was the last thing out of Shiro’s mouth before he wiggled his body, clearly trying to get more comfortable. Keith breathed slowly, waiting as Shiro’s palm slipped between Keith’s shoulder and the mattress, and he inched over enough that half his body was on top of Keith. In a matter of minutes, Shiro was passed out, the change in his breathing unmistakable.

Shiro’s weight was heavy and solid, and Keith closed his eyes, overwhelmed by an unexpected wave of contentment. He was definitely going to need his rest if Shiro planned on multiple _next times_ , and Keith closed his eyes, letting sleep claim him.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/goldentruth813).


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